HO 


ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 


LONDON  :  HUMPHREY  MILFORD 
OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF 
ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 


BY 


PAULL  FRANKLIN  BAUM 


CAMBRIDGE 

HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
1929 


COPYRIGHT,  1922 
BY  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

Fourth  Printing 


PRINTED  AT  THE  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
CAMBRIDGE,  MASS.,  U.  S.A. 


TO 
C.  H.  N.  B. 


PREFACE 

MOST  of  the  older  discussions  of  English  versifi- 
cation labored  under  two  difficulties:  an  undue 
adherence  to  the  traditions  of  Greek  and  Latin  prosody 
more  or  less  perfectly  understood,  and  an  exaggerated 
formalism.  But  recently  the  interest  and  excitement 
(now  happily  abated)  over  free-verse  have  reopened 
the  old  questions  and  let  in  upon  them  not  a  little 
light.  Even  today,  however,  a  great  deal  of  metrical 
analysis  has  wrecked  itself  on  the  visible  rocks  of  a 
false  accuracy,  and  it  is  therefore  not  only  out  of  cau- 
tion but  also  out  of  mere  common  sense  that  we  should 
eschew  the  arbitrary,  even  at  the  risk  of  vagueness 
and  an  'unscientific*  admission  of  uncertainty.  For 
the  only  great  and  annihilating  danger  of  writing  on 
versification  is  dogmatism.  Our  theorists,  both  old 
and  new,  are  first  tempted  and  then  possessed  with 
their  theories  —  all  else  becoming  wrong  and  intoler- 
able. In  the  following  pages  I  have  perhaps  erred  in 
a  too  frequent  insistence  on  doubts  and  perplexities; 
perhaps  also,  on  occasion,  in  a  too  plain  statement  of 
opinion  where  judgments  are  bound  to  differ  —  sic 
se  res  habent. 

Now  it  is  plain  that  rhythm  is  one  of  the  ultimate 
facts  of  nature  and  one  of  the  universal  principles  of 


viii  PREFACE 

art;  and  thus  versification,  which  is  the  study  of  the 
rhythms  of  verse,  is  both  a  science  and  an  art.  But 
it  differs  from  the  other  sciences  in  that  its  phenomena 
are  not  'regular'  and  reducible  to  law,  but  varying 
and  subject  to  the  dictates,  even  the  whims,  of  genius; 
inasmuch  as  every  poem  involves  a  fresh  fiat  of  crea- 
tion. Of  course,  no  poet  when  he  is  composing,  either 
in  the  traditional  "fine  frenzy"  or  in  the  more  sober 
process  of  revision,  thinks  of  prosody  as  a  science,  or 
perhaps  thinks  of  it  at  all.  If  he  did  he  would  go  mad, 
and  produce  nothing.  But  the  phenomena  remain, 
nevertheless,  and  the  analysis  of  them  becomes  for 
us  a  science. 

This  analysis  has  what  Bacon  would  call  two  in- 
conveniences. The  first  is  complexity.  The  various 
ways  in  which  the  formal  rhythms  of  verse  combine 
with  the  infinitely  modulated  rhythms  of  natural  prose 
produce  a  resultant  which  is  complicated  to  the  last 
degree  and  which  almost  precludes  orderly  exposi- 
tion. No  system  has  been  devised  to  express  it.  The 
simpler  ones  fail  through  omission  of  important 
difficulties,  the  more  elaborate  totter  under  their  own 
weight.  And  thus  the  Gentle  Reader  is  either  be- 
guiled by  false  prophets  —  looks  up  and  is  not  fed  — 
or  loses  heart  and  saves  himself  by  flight.  There  is, 
to  be  sure,  an  arcanum  of  prosodic  theory  which  is 
the  province  of  specialists.  It  has  its  place  in  the 
scheme  of  things;  but  it  is  no  more  necessary  for  the 
genuine  enjoyment  of  Milton  (or  the  'moderns')  than 
a  knowledge  of  the  formulae  for  calculating  the  par- 
allax of  Alpha  Leonis  is  necessary  for  enjoying  the 


PREFACE  ix 

pillared  firmament.  We  must  then  compromise  with 
a  system  which  reveals  the  existence  of  all  the  phenom- 
ena and  tries  to  suggest  their  interrelated  workings. 

The  other  inconvenience  is  that  of  seeming  to  deny 
the  real  poetry  by  our  preoccupation  with  its  metrical 
expression.  "Under  pretence  that  we  want  to  study 
it  more  in  detail,  we  pulverize  the  statue."  This  is  an 
old  charge,  and  our  answer  is  easy.  For,  however  it 
may  be  with  the  statue,  a  poem  is  never  pulverized; 
it  is  still  there  on  the  page!  No  amount  of  analyzing 
can  injure  the  poem.  If  we  think  it  has  injured  us, 
even  then  we  err,  and  need  only  recall  our  natural 
aversion  to  hard  labor.  In  nearly  every  instance  it 
was  the  work  and  not  the  analysis  that  bothered  us. 

This  is  a  small  book  and  therefore  not  exhaustive. 
And  since  it  is  as  elementary,  especially  in  the  treat- 
ment of  the  principles  of  rhythm,  as  is  consistent  with 
a  measure  of  thoroughness,  the  apparatus  of  mere 
learning  has  been  suppressed,  even  where  it  might 
perhaps  seem  needed,  as  in  footnote  references  to  the 
scientific  investigations  on  which  part  of  the  text  is 
based.  I  have  consulted  and  used,  of  course,  all  the 
books  and  articles  I  could  find  that  had  anything  of 
value  to  offer;  but  I  have  rarely  cited  them,  not  be- 
cause I  wish  to  conceal  my  indebtedness,  but  because 
there  is  no  room  for  elaborate  documentation  in  such 
a  book  as  this.  On  the  other  hand,  I  owe  a  very  great 
deal,  both  directly  and  indirectly,  to  Professor  Bliss 
Perry  —  although  my  manuscript  was  finished  before 
I  saw  his  Study  of  Poetry;  and  this  debt  I  wish  to 
acknowledge  most  fully  and  gratefully. 


x  PREFACE 

In  lieu  of  a  formal  bibliography,  I  think  it  sufficient 
(in  addition  to  the  footnotes  that  occur  in  their  proper 
place)  to  refer  the  reader  to  the  larger  works  of 
Schipper  and  Saintsbury,  to  the  smaller  volumes  of 
Professor  Perry  and  Professor  R.  M.  Alden,  and  par- 
ticularly to  Mr.  T.  S.  Omond's  English  Metrists,  1921. 

P.  F.  B. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.   RHYTHM 3 

II.   RHYTHM  OF  PROSE  AND  VERSE 22 

III.  METRE 49 

IV.  METRICAL  FORMS: 

1.  THE  LINE 69 

2.  THE  STANZA 88 

3.  BLANK  VERSE 133 

4.  FREE- VERSE 150 

5.  EXOTIC  FORMS 159 

V.   MELODY,  HARMONY,  AND  MODULATION     ...  165 

GLOSSARIAL  INDEX 207 


ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 


CHAPTER  I 

RHYTHM 

RHYTHM,  in  its  simplest  sense,  is  measured  mo- 
tion; but  by  various  natural  extensions  of  mean- 
ing the  word  has  come  to  be  used  almost  as  a  synonym 
of  regularity  of  variation.  Whatever  changes  or  alter- 
nates according  to  a  recognizable  system  is  said  to  be 
rhythmic,  to  possess  rhythm.  In  this  sense,  rhythm  is 
one  of  the  universal  principles  of  nature.  We  find  it  in 
the  stripes  of  the  zebra,  the  indentation  of  leaves,  the 
series  of  teeth  or  of  crystals,  the  curves  of  the  horizon; 
in  the  tides,  the  phases  of  the  moon,  the  rising  and  set- 
ting of  the  sun,  the  recurrence  of  seasons,  the  revolu- 
tions of  planets;  in  the  vibrations  of  color,  sound,  and 
heat;  in  breathing,  the  throbbing  of  the  pulse,  the 
stride  of  walking.  All  action  and  reaction  whatever  is 
rhythmic,  both  in  nature  and  in  man.  "Rhythm  is  the 
rule  with  Nature,"  said  Tyndall;  "she  abhors  uni- 
formity more  than  she  does  a  vacuum."  So  deep- 
rooted,  in  truth,  is  this  principle,  that  we  imagine  it 
and  feel  it  where  it  does  not  exist,  as  in  the  clicking  of  a 
typewriter.  Thus  there  is  both  an  objective  rhythm, 
which  actually  exists  as  rhythm,  and  a  subjective 
rhythm,  which  is  only  the  feeling  of  regularity  result- 
ing from  a  natural  tendency  of  the  mind  to  'organize' 
any  irregularity  that  we  meet. 


4  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

There  are  two  fundamental  forms  of  rhythm,  though 
these  are  not  altogether  mutually  exclusive,  (i)  spatial, 
and  (2)  temporal. 

Spatial  Rhythms.  The  simplest  spatial  rhythm  is  a 
series  of  equidistant  points  — 

More  complex  forms  are  the  succession  of  repeated  de- 
signs in  mouldings  and  wainscotings  (for  example,  the 
alternation  of  egg  and  dart),  the  series  of  windows  in  a 
wall,  or  of  the  columns  of  a  Greek  temple,  or  of  the 
black  and  white  keys  of  a  piano.  Still  more  complex  is 
the  balanced  arrangement  of  straight  lines  and  curves 
in  a  geometrical  design,  as  in  certain  Oriental  rugs  or 
the  Gothic  rose  windows.  And  probably  the  most 
complex  spatial  rhythms  are  those  of  the  facades 
of  great  buildings  like  the  Gothic  cathedrals  or  St. 
Mark's  of  Venice,  where  only  the  trained  eye  perceives 
the  subtleties  of  alternation  and  balance. 

Temporal  Rhythms.  Temporal  rhythms,  apart  from 
those  of  planetary  motion,  the  alternation  of  seasons, 
and  the  like  (which  are  called  rhythmic  by  a  meta- 
phorical extension  of  the  term),  manifest  themselves 
to  us  as  phenomena  of  sound;  hence  the  two  concepts 
time-rhythm  and  sound-rhythm  are  commonly  thought 
of  as  one  and  the  same. 

The  simplest  form  is  the  tick-tick-tick  of  a  watch  or 
metronome.  But  such  mechanical  regularity  is  com- 
paratively rare,  and  in  general  the  temporal  rhythms 
are  all  highly  complex  composites  of  sounds  and  si- 
lences. Their  highest  manifestations  are  music  and 


RHYTHM  5 

language.  The  rhythm  of  language,  and  a  fortiori  that 
of  verse,  is  therefore  primarily  a  temporal  or  sound 
rhythm,  and  as  such  is  the  particular  subject  of  the 
following  pages. 

Combinations.  Language,  however,  when  addressed 
to  the  eye  rather  than  to  the  ear,  that  is,  when  written 
or  printed  rather  than  spoken,  is  partly  a  spatial  phe- 
nomenon; and,  as  will  appear  presently,  the  arrange- 
ment of  words  and  sentences  on  the  formal  page  is  a 
real  factor  in  the  rhythm  of  verse.  Moreover,  most  of 
the  rhythms  of  motion,  such  as  walking,  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  tides,  the  breaking  of  waves  on  the  beach,  are 
composites  of  temporal  and  spatial.1 

Sound  Rhythm.  These  elementary  generalizations 
must  be  narrowed  now  to  the  special  phenomena  of 
sound,  and  then  still  more  particularly  to  the  sounds 
of  language. 

All  musical  tones,  including  the  phonetic  sounds  of 
words,  have  four  characteristics:  pitch,  loudness  or  in- 
tensity, quality  or  tone-color,  and  duration.  The  last, 
of  course,  needs  no  definition. 

Pitch  is  dependent  on  the  number  of  vibrations  per 
second.  The  greater  the  number  of  vibrations,  the 
higher  the  pitch  and  the  more  '  acute  '  the  tone.  The 

1  One  hears  sometimes  of  '  rhythmic  thought '  and  '  rhythmic  feel- 
ing.' This  is  merely  a  further  extension  or  metaphorical  usage  of  the 
term.  In  Othello,  for  instance,  there  is  a  more  or  less  regular  alternation 
of  the  feelings  of  purity  and  jealousy,  and  of  tragedy  and  comedy.  In 
some  of  the  Dialogues  of  Plato  there  is  a  certain  rhythm  of  thought. 
This  usage  is  fairly  included  in  the  Oxford  Dictionary's  definition:  "  move- 
ment marked  by  the  regulated  succession  of  strong  and  weak  elements,  or 
of  opposite  or  different  conditions." 


6  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

lowest  pitch  recognizable  as  a  tone  (as  distinguished 
from  noise)  is  8  vibrations  a  second;  the  highest  pitch 
the  ear  can  hear  is  between  20,000  and  30,000  a  second. 
In  normal  English  speech  among  adults  the  voice 
ranges  from  about  100  to  300  vibrations,  but  in  ani- 
mated speaking  this  range  is  greatly  increased. 

Loudness  is  a  comparative  term  for  the  strength  of 
the  sensation  of  sound  in  the  ear.  It  is  determined  by 
the  energy  or  intensity  of  the  vibrations  and  varies 
(technically  speaking)  as  the  product  of  the  square 
of  the  frequency  and  the  square  of  the  amplitude 
(/  =  rPA"2).  But  for  ordinary  purposes  it  is  sufficient  to 
regard  loudness  and  intensity  as  the  same.  The  distinc- 
tion, however,  is  clear  in  common  practice;  for  whether 
one  says  "father"  loudly  or  quietly,  there  is  a  rela- 
tively greater  intensity  of  sound  in  the  first  syllable 
than  in  the  second.  In  speech  this  intensity  is  called 
accent  or  stress. 

The  third  characteristic,  variously  called  quality, 
timbre,  tone-quality,  tone-color,  is  that  which  distin- 
guishes sounds  "of  the  same  loudness  and  pitch  pro- 
duced by  different  instruments  or  voices.  It  is  the 
result  of  the  combination  of  the  partial  tones  of  a 
sound,  that  is,  of  the  fundamental  and  its  overtones. 
In  music,  tone-quality  is  of  the  utmost  importance,  but 
as  an  element  of  speech  rhythm  it  is  practically  non- 
existent, and  may  be  wholly  neglected,  though  it  plays, 
of  course,  a  prominent  part  in  the  oral  reading  of  dif- 
ferent persons.1 

1  There  is,  however,  another  phenomenon  (to  be  discussed  later) 
called  by  the  same  name,  '  tone-color,'  but  having  only  a  metaphorical 


RHYTHM  7 

What  is  the  relation  of  these  physical  attributes  of 
sound  to  sound  rhythm?  The  answer  lies  in  a  closer 
examination  of  the  nature  of  rhythm,  especially  as  it 
concerns  the  rhythm  of  speech. 

Rhythm  means  measured  flow  or  succession.  Now 
first,  in  order  that  any  succession  may  be  measured, 
there  must  be  something  recognizable  which  distin- 
guishes one  unit  from  the  next.  In  spatial  rhythms  the 
point  of  division  is  almost  always  easily  perceived; 
hence  the  greater  difficulty  of  analyzing  the  simplest 
time-rhythms  as  compared  with  the  most  complex 
space-rhythms.  Moreover,  the  basis  of  measurement, 
that  by  which  the  'distance'  between  any  point  of 
division  and  that  which  follows  it  is  determined,  must, 
by  definition,  be  duration  of  time.  Suppose,  however, 
that  the  time-distance  between  successive  points  of 
emphasis  or  division  is  equal,  is  the  rhythm  therefore 
necessarily  regular?  No,  because  the  points  of  em- 
phasis themselves  may  vary  in  force  or  energy.  Thus 
if  in  the  following  scheme  ('  =  point  of  emphasis;  — 
=  equal  time-distance): 

/-/-'-/-'-/-  etc. 

every  '  is  not  of  the  same  value,  the  result  might  be 
("=  twice  as  much  emphasis  as  ';  '"  =  three  times  as 
much)  : 


relation  to  it.  Many  words  —  father,  soul,  ineluctable,  for  example  — 
have  emotional  associations  which  stand  to  the  literal  meaning  somewhat 
like  overtones  to  the  fundamental.  This  tone-quality  of  language  is  one  of 
the  primary  and  most  significant  sources  of  poetical  effect,  but  it  should 
never  be  confused  with  the  musical  term  on  which  it  is  patterned. 


8  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

and  this  could  not  be  called  regular.  A  simple  illustra- 
tion of  this  is  the  difference  in  music  between  £  time, 
where  we  count  i'  2  3,  i'  2  3,  i'  2  3  and  £  or  f  time, 
where  we  count  i"  2  3  4'  5  6,  i"  2  3  4'  5  6.  Further- 
more, apart  from  any  question  of  force  or  energy  ap- 
plied in  the  production  of  a  sound,  it  is  clear  that  high 
notes  seem  to  possess  a  greater  strength  than  low  notes, 
and  must  therefore  be  recognized  as  an  element  in 
rhythmic  emphasis.  For  example,  if  the  following 
series  of  notes  were  sounded  on  a  piano,  and  each 
struck  with  equal  force  — 


J  r  J  r  J  r 


etc. 


a  certain  'accent'  would  probably  be  felt  on  the  e 
which  was  not  felt  on  the  a.  And  it  is  well  known  that 
shrill  sounds  and  high-pitched  voices  carry  farther  and 
seem  louder  than  others. 

In  the  simplest  kind  of  temporal  rhythm,  therefore, 
where  the  beats  are,  say,  drum-taps  of  equal  force,  the 
primary  element  is  time.  But  if  there  is  the  added 
complication  of  drum-taps  of  unequal  force,  the  ele- 
ment of  comparative  stress  must  be  reckoned  with. 
And  if,  finally,  the  drum-taps  are  not  in  the  same  key 
(say,  on  kettledrums  differently  tuned),  then  the  fur- 
ther element  of  comparative  pitch  must  be  considered 
as  a  possible  point  of  emphasis.  In  a  word,  pitch  may 
sometimes  be  substituted  for  stress. 

In  music  rhythmic  units  may  be  marked  by  differ- 
ences in  tone-quality  as  well,  and  thus  the  potential 
complexity  is  greatly  increased;  but  in  spoken  Ian- 


RHYTHM  9 

guage,  as  has  been  said,  this  element  of  rhythm  is 
negligible.  In  speech-rhythm,  however,  the  three  con- 
ditions of  time,  stress,  and  pitch  are  always  present, 
and  therefore  no  consideration  of  either  prose  rhythm 
or  verse  can  hope  to  be  complete  or  adequate  which 
neglects  any  one  of  them  or  the  possibilities  of  their 
permutations  and  combinations.  And  it  is  precisely 
here  that  many  treatments  of  the  rhythm  of  language 
have  revealed  their  weakness:  they  have  excluded 
pitch  usually,  and  often  either  stress  or  time.  They 
have  tried  to  build  up  a  whole  system  of  prosody  some- 
times on  a  foundation  of  stress  alone,  sometimes  of 
time  alone.  The  reason  for  this  failure  is  simple,  and  it 
is  also  a  warning.  Any  attempt  to  reckon  with  these 
three  forces,  each  of  which  is  extremely  variable,  not 
only  among  different  individuals  but  in  the  same  per- 
son at  different  times  —  any  attempt  to  analyze  these 
elements  and  observe,  as  well,  their  mutual  influences 
and  combined  effects,  is  bound  to  result  in  a  complica- 
tion of  details  that  almost  defies  expression  or  com- 
prehension. The  danger  is  as  great  as  the  difficulty. 
But  nothing  can  ever  be  gained  by  the  sort  of  simpli- 
fication which  disregards  existent  and  relevant  facts. 
It  is  to  be  confessed  at  once,  however,  that  one  cannot 
hope  to  answer  in  any  really  adequate  way  all  or  even 
most  of  the  questions  that  arise.  The  best  that  can  be 
expected  is  a  thorough  recognition  of  the  complexity, 
together  with  some  recognition  of  the  component 
difficulties. 

Moreover,  only  a  part  of  the  problem  has  been 
stated  thus  far.   Not  only  is  all  spoken  language  the 


io  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

resultant  of  the  subjectively  variable  forces  of  time, 
stress,  and  pitch,  but  these  three  forces  are  themselves 
subject  to  and  intimately  affected  by  the  thought  and 
emotion  which  they  express.  Though  educated  persons 
probably  receive  the  phenomena  of  language  more  fre- 
quently through  the  eye  than  through  the  ear,  it  is 
true  that  words  are,  in  the  first  instance,  sounds,  of 
which  the  printed  or  written  marks  are  but  conven- 
tional symbols.  And  these  symbols  and  the  sounds 
which  they  represent  have  other  values  also,  logical  or 
intellectual  and  emotional  values.  Language  is  there- 
fore a  compound  instrument  of  both  sound  and  mean- 
ing, and  speech-rhythm,  in  its  fullest  sense,  is  the 
composite  resultant  of  the  attributes  of  sound  (dura- 
tion, intensity,  and  pitch)  modified  by  the  logical  and 
emotional  content  of  the  words  and  phrases  which  they 
represent. 

For  example,  utter  the  words:  "A  house  is  my  fire," 
and  observe  the  comparative  duration  of  time  in  the 
pronunciation  of  each  word,  the  comparative  stress, 
and  the  relative  pitch  (e.  g.  of  a  andyzre).  Now  re- 
arrange these  nearly  meaningless  syllables:  "My 
house  is  afire."  Observe  the  differences,  some  slight 
and  some  well  marked,  in  time,  stress,  and  pitch.  Then 
consider  the  different  emotional  coloring  this  sentence 
might  have  and  the  different  results  on  time,  stress, 
and  pitch  in  utterance,  if,  say,  the  house  contains  all 
that  you  hold  most  precious  and  there  is  no  chance  of 
rescue;  or  if,  on  the  other  hand,  the  house  is  worthless 
and  you  are  glad  to  see  it  destroyed.  And  even  here  the 
matter  is  comparatively  simple;  for  in  reading  the 


RHYTHM  ii 

following  sentence  from  Walter  Pater,  note  the  mani- 
fold variations  in  your  own  utterance  of  it  at  different 
times  and  imagine  how  it  would  be  read  by  a  person  of 
dull  sensibilities,  by  one  of  keen  poetic  feeling,  and 
finally  by  one  who  recalled  its  context  and  on  that 
account  could  enjoy  its  fullest  richness:  "It  is  the 
landscape,  not  of  dreams  or  of  fancy,  but  of  places  far 
withdrawn,  and  hours  selected  from  a  thousand  with  a 
miracle  of  finesse."  l 

The  last  step  of  the  complication,  which  can  only  be 
indicated  here,  and  will  be  developed  in  a  later  chapter, 
comes  with  the  mutual  adjustment  of  the  natural  prose 
rhythm  and  the  metrical  pattern  of  the  verse.  Such  a 
sentence  as  the  following  has  its  own  peculiar  rhythms: 
"And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth  the  forms  of  things 
unknown,  the  poet's  pen  turns  them  to  shapes,  and 
gives  to  airy  nothing  a  local  habitation  and  a  name." 
Now  read  it  as  verse,  and  the  rhythms  are  different; 
both  the  meaning  and  the  music  are  enhanced. 

1  Walter  Pater,  "Leonardo  da  Vinci,"  in  The  Renaissance.  For  an  ac- 
count of  scientific  experiments  on  the  time  and  stress  rhythm  of  this  sen- 
tence, see  W.  M.  Patterson,  The  Rhythm  of  Prose,  New  York,  1916, 
ch.  iv.  An  idea  of  the  complexity  may  be  obtained  from  Patterson's 
attempt  to  indicate  it  by  musical  notation: 


accel.  rit. 


cjsy 


accel. 

A 


12  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

And  as  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

SHAKESPEARE,  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  V,  i. 

These  then  are  the  problems  and  the  difficulties. 
The  solutions  can  be  only  partial  and  tentative,  but 
they  are  the  best  we  are  able  to  obtain  with  our  present 
knowledge  and  our  present  capabilities  of  analysis. 
As  science  today  has  advanced  in  accuracy  of  knowl- 
edge and  understanding  of  the  facts  of  nature  far  be- 
yond the  powers  of  our  ancestors  to  imagine,  so  in  the 
future  psychologists  may,  and  let  us  hope  will,  enable 
us  to  comprehend  the  subtleties  of  metrical  rhythm 
beyond  our  present  power.  Yet  there  will  always  re- 
main, since  the  ever-inexplicable  element  of  genius  is  a 
necessary  part  of  all  art,  a  portion  which  no  science  can 
describe  or  analyze. 

The  Psychology  of  Rhythm.  That  nearly  all  persons 
have  a  definite  sense  of  rhythm,  though  sometimes 
latent  because  of  defective  education,  is  a  familiar 
fact.  The  origin  and  source  of  this  sense  is  a  matter  of 
uncertainty  and  dispute.  The  regular  beating  of  the 
heart,  the  regular  alternation  of  inhaling  and  exhaling, 
the  regular  motions  of  walking,  all  these  unconscious  or 
semi-conscious  activities  of  the  body  have  been  sug- 
gested; and  they  doubtless  have  a  concomitant  if  not 
a  direct  influence  on  the  rhythmic  sense.  Certainly 
there  is  an  intimate  relation  between  the  heart  action 
and  breath  rate  and  the  external  stimulus  of  certain 
rhythmic  forces,  as  is  shown  by  the  tendency  of  the 


RHYTHM  13 

pulse  and  breath  to  adapt  their  tempo  to  the  beat  of 
fast  or  slow  music.  But  this  can  hardly  be  the  whole 
explanation.  More  important,  from  the  psychological 
point  of  view,  is  doubtless  the  alternation  of  effort  and 
fatigue  which  characterizes  our  mental  as  well  as  phys- 
ical actions.  A  period  of  concentrated  attention  is  at 
once  followed  by  a  period  of  indifference;  the  attention 
flags,  wearies,  and  must  be  recuperated  by  a  pause, 
just  as  the  muscular  effort  of  hand  or  arm.  In  truth, 
the  muscles  of  the  eye  play  a  real  part  in  the  alterna- 
tions of  effort  and  rest  in  reading.  The  immediate  ap- 
plication of  this  psychological  fact  to  the  temporal 
rhythms  has  been  clearly  phrased  by  the  French 
metrist,  M.  Verrier: 

I  hear  the  first  beat  of  a  piece  of  music  or  of  a  verse,  and,  my 
attention  immediately  awakened,  I  await  the  second.  At  the  end 
of  a  certain  time  —  that  is,  when  the  expense  of  energy  demanded 
has  reached  a  certain  degree  —  this  second  beat  strikes  my  ear. 
Then  I  expect  to  hear  the  third  when  the  dynamic  sense  of  atten- 
tion shall  indicate  an  equal  expense  of  energy,  that  is,  at  the  end 
of  an  equal  interval  of  time.  Thus,  by  means  of  sensation  and  of 
memory  of  the  amount  of  energy  expended  in  the  attention  each 
time,  I  can  perceive  the  equality  of  time-interval  of  the  rhythmic 
units.  Once  this  effort  of  attention  becomes  definite  and  fixed,  it 
repeats  itself  instinctively  and  mechanically  —  by  reflex  action, 
so  to  say,  like  that  of  walking  when  we  are  accustomed  to  a  stride 
of  a  given  length  and  rapidity.  Here  we  have  truly  a  sort  of  met- 
ronome which  will  beat  out  the  rhythm  according  as  we  regulate 
it.  And  it  goes  without  saying  that  with  this  we  can  not  only  note 
the  rhythm  in  our  songs  or  spoken  verse  or  movements,  but  also 
perceive  it  in  the  sounds  and  movements  of  other  persons  and 
other  things. 

This  metronome  of  attention  functions,  indeed,  still  more 
simply.  With  attention,  as  with  all  the  psycho-physiological 
processes,  effort  alternates  with  rest:  it  grows  stronger  and 
weaker,  contracts  and  expands  in  turn.  This  pulse  of  attention 


i4  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

varies  in  different  persons  according  to  the  peculiar  rhythm  of  the 
organism.  In  the  same  person,  under  normal  conditions,  it  re- 
mains nearly  constant.  It  is  always  subject  to  modification  by 
the  psycho-physiological  conditions  of  the  moment,  especially  by 
the  emotions  and  by  external  circumstances.  In  a  series  of  iden- 
tical equidistant  stresses,  those  which  coincide  with  the  pulse  of 
attention  seem  the  stronger:  this  is  what  is  called  subjective 
rhythm.  Since  this  coincidence  is  nearly  always  somewhat  in- 
exact, there  results  an  easy  accommodation  of  the  pulse  of  atten- 
tion, although  even  in  the  subjective  rhythm  there  has  already 
occurred  an  objective  influence  capable  of  affecting  us  sensibly.1 

Thus  we  have  always  at  hand  both  a  more  or  less  effi- 
cient bodily  metronome  in  the  pulse  and  in  respiration, 
and  also  a  "cerebral  metronome"  capable  not  only  of 
easy  adjustment  to  different  rates  of  speed  but  also  of 
that  subtlest  of  modulations  which  psychologists  call 
the  'elastic  unit,'  and  which  musicians,  though  not  so 
definitely  or  surely,  recognize  as  tempo  rubato. 

The  sense  of  rhythm,  as  has  been  said,  differs  re- 
markably in  different  individuals  — just  as  the  sense  of 
touch,  of  smell,  of  hearing.2  To  some,  rhythm  appears 
chiefly  as  a  series  of  points  of  emphasis  or  stresses  al- 
ternating with  points  of  less  emphasis  or  of  none  at  all; 
such  are  called,  in  scientific  jargon,  '  stressers.'  To 
others  the  principal  characteristic  of  rhythm  is  the 
time  intervals;  such  are  called  *  timers.'  But  this  is  a 
practical,  not  a  philosophical  distinction.  For  it  is  the 

1  Paul  Verrier,  Essai  sur  les  Principes  de  la  M6trique  Anglaise  (Paris, 
1909),  Deuxieme  Partie,  Livre  II,  ch.  x,  pp.  56,  57;  and  cf.  p.  90,  n.  i. 

2  A  simple  experiment  will  illustrate  this.   Place  two  persons  back  to 
back,  so  that  they  cannot  see  each  other,  and  have  them  beat  time  to  an 
audible  melody;  as  soon  as  the  music  ceases  they  will  begin  to  beat  dif- 
ferently.   (Verrier,  II,  p.  65.)    The  difficulty  of  keeping  even  a  trained 
orchestra  playing  together  illustrates  the  same  fact. 


RHYTHM  15 

succession  of  points  of  emphasis  which  even  the  most 
aggressive  stresser  feels  as  rhythmic;  and  succession 
implies  and  involves  a  temporal  element.  The  stress- 
er's  only  difficulty  is  to  feel  the  approximate  equality 
of  the  interval.  The  essential  thing,  however,  is  to 
understand  that,  while  time  is  the  foundation  of  speech- 
rhythm,  stress  is  its  universal  adjunct  and  concomi- 
tant.1 

The  explanation  of  this  duality  is  simple.  A  series  of 
identical  tones 

J     J     J     J     Jetc. 

contains  a  simple  objective  rhythm.  The  pronounced 
timer  will  feel  it  clearly;  the  extreme  stresser  will  not. 
Change  the  series  to 

J      J     J      J     J      J     J      Jetc., 
or 

J     J     J     J     J     J     J     Jet,, 

and  both  will  feel  it;  for  in  the  last  example  both  time 
and  stress  are  obvious,  and  in  the  other  the  longer  notes 
of  the  series  produce  the  effect  of  stress.2  Most  per- 
sons, therefore,  with  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  con- 
sciousness, allow  their  physical  or  cerebral  metronome 
to  affect  the  simple 

J     J     J     J     J     Jetc., 

1  "If  rhythm  means  anything  to  the  average  individual,  it  means 
motor  response  and  a  sense  of  organized  time."   Patterson,  p.  14. 

2  Musicians  often  '  dot '  a  note  for  the  sake  of  emphasizing  the  accent, 
especially  in  orchestral  music  and  with  such  instruments  as  the  flute, 
where  variations  of  stress  are  difficult  to  produce. 


16  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

so  that  they  hear  or  feel  either 

3     J    3    J'3     Jet,, 
or 

j. ;  j.  ;  j. ; «, 

It  is  thus  that  the  clock  says  tick-/0r&,  tick-fock,  the 
locomotive  chu-chu,  chu-chu.  Timers  are  in  the  mi- 
nority. 

A  converse  phenomenon  of  the  subjective  introduc- 
tion of  stress  into  a  series  of  identical  tones  at  equal  in- 
tervals is  the  subjective  '  organization  '  of  a  series  of 
irregular  beats.  Some  do  this  more  easily  and  nat- 
urally than  others,  but  the  tendency  is  present  in  all 
who  are  not  absolutely  rhythm-deaf.  The  "minute 
drops  from  off  the  eaves"  beat  out  a  tune,  the  type- 
writer develops  a  monotonous  song,  the  public  speaker 
'gets  his  stride'  and  continues  in  a  sing-song. 

Thus,  when  there  are  equal  intervals  but  stress  is 
absent,  we  more  or  less  unconsciously  supply  it;  when 
there  are  distinct  stresses  at  irregular  intervals  we  or- 
ganize them  into  approximately  regular  intervals.  We 
have  in  us  by  instinct  and  by  development  both  the 
ability  and  also  the  need  to  draw  forth  rhythm  where- 
ever  it  is  latent.  Rhythm  becomes  one  of  our  physical 
and  mental  pleasures,  manifest  in  primitive  dancing 
and  balladry,  sailors'  chanteys,  and  the  simple  heave- 
ho  's  of  concerted  labor.  It  induces  economy  of  effort, 
and  so  makes  work  lighter;  and  it  has,  though  perhaps 
not  always,  a  certain  aesthetic  value,  in  making  labor 
more  interesting  as  well  as  easier.  It  is  one  of  the  attri- 
butes of  the  god  we  worship  under  the  name  of  System. 


RHYTHM  17 

Coordination,  Syncopation,  Substitution.  The  proc- 
esses of  the  subjective  organization  of  rhythm  may 
best  be  explained  under  the  heads  of  coordination,  syn- 
copation, and  substitution.  Their  application  to  the 
particular  problems  of  verse  will  be  apparent  at  once, 
and  will,  in  fact,  constitute  the  bulk  of  the  following 
pages. 

Coordination  has  two  aspects,  according  as  it  is 
thought  of  simply  as  an  existing  fact  or  as  a  process. 
In  the  former  sense  it  is  the  agreement  or  coincidence 
(or  the  perception  of  agreement  or  coincidence)  be- 
tween the  simple  normal  recurrence  of  beats  and  the 
actual  or  predetermined  pattern.  Thus  in  the  lines 

And  swims,  or  sinks,  or  wades,  or  creeps,  or  flies, 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost,  II,  950. 

A  sable,  silent,  solemn  forest  stood, 

THOMSON,  Castle  of  Indolence,  st.  5. 

the  '  natural '  beat  of  the  words  uttered  in  the  most 
natural  and  reasonable  manner  coincides  with  the 
*  artificial  '  beat  of  the  metrical  line. 

On  the  other  hand,  coordination  is  the  process  which 
results  in  one's  reduction  of  irregular  beats  to  an  ap- 
proximately regular  series.  When  we  hear  a  haphaz- 
ard succession  of  drum-taps  or  the  irregular  click-click 
of  the  typewriter,  most  of  us  soon  begin  to  feel  a  cer- 
tain orderly  arrangement,  a  rhythmical  swing  in  the 
repeated  sounds,  a  grouping  according  to  a  sort  of  unit 
which  recurs  with  nearly  equal  intervals.  The  units 
are  not  absolutely  equal,  but  are  elastic,  allowing  of 
some  contraction  and  expansion;  yet  they  are  so  nearly 
equal,  or  we  feel  them  so,  that  the  series  seems  regular. 


1 8  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Now  this  process  of  coordination  involves  two  ac- 
tivities, syncopation  and  substitution.  The  workings 
of  both  are  highly  complex  and  somewhat  uncertain; 
they  differ  greatly  in  different  individuals,  and  when 
analyzed  scientifically  seem  to  produce  more  difficul- 
ties than  they  explain.  But  fortunately  the  outstand- 
ing ideas  are  beyond  dispute,  and  detailed  examination 
can  properly  be  left  to  the  scientists. 

Syncopation  is  the  union,  or  the  perception  of  the 
union,  of  two  or  more  rhythmic  patterns.1  A  familiar 
example  is  perhaps  the  *  three  against  two  '  in  music, 
where  one  hand  follows  a  taw-te-te,  /ww-te-te  rhythm, 
the  other  a  fum-te,  tum-te.  This  complexity,  which 
strikes  us  as  sophisticated  subtlety  and  is  not  always 
easy  to  reproduce,  is  in  fact  both  simple  and  familiar  to 
the  untutored  savage.  We  must  remember  that  the 
evolution  of  language  and  of  music  has  been  for  the 
more  part  in  the  direction  of  greater  simplicity  of  struc- 
ture. Primitive  music,  as  we  find  it  in  the  undeveloped 
Indians  and  Australasians,  is  often  too  complex  to  be 
expressed  by  our  regular  notation.  Another  familiar 
example  of  syncopation  is  the  negro  dance,  in  which 
the  "dancer  taps  with  his  feet  just  half-way  between 

1  Cf.  Patterson,  p.  3,  "  ...  the  possibility  of  preserving  a  certain 
series  of  time  intervals,  but  of  changing  in  various  ways  the  nature  of  the 
motions  or  sensations  that  mark  the  beats."  This  may  be  tested  by  a 
simple  experiment.  With  the  foot  or  finger  tap  evenly,  regularly,  and 
rather  rapidly.  Without  changing  the  regularity  of  the  tapping,  but 
merely  by  a  mental  readjustment,  the  beats  may  be  felt  as  tum-te,  tum-te, 
tum-te  (or  te-tum,  etc.)  or  as  /«7»-te-te,  tum-te-te,  tum-te-te  (or  te-te-tum, 
etc.),  or  even  as  tum-te-te-te,  tum-te-te-te  (or  te-te-te-/ww,  etc.).  It  is  but 
a  step  from  this  successive  perception  of  various  rhythms  from  the  same 
objective  source  to  a  combined  and  simultaneous  perception  of  them. 


RHYTHM  19 

the  hand-claps  of  those  who  are  accompanying  his  per- 
formance."1 And  of  course  the  commonest  example 
is  the  strongly  marked  syncopation  of  ragtime.2 

In  prose,  this  syncopation  is  evident  in  the  apparent 
recognition,  and  even  reproduction  in  reading  aloud,  of 
a  regularity  of  rhythm  where  none  really  exists;  as 
when  protracted  reading  or  listening  develops  or  seems 
to  develop  a  monotonous  sing-song.  But  this  phe- 
nomenon cannot  be  explained  briefly,  and  the  details 
must  be  omitted  here.3  In  verse  also  syncopation  fre- 
quently occurs,  though  it  is  seldom  recognized  except 
as  an  '  irregularity.'  In  the  following  lines  of  Paradise 
Lost  the  first  two  coincide  pretty  closely  with  the  nor- 
mal beats  of  the  measure;  while  in  the  third  line  the 
series  is  an  entirely  different  one. 

So  Satan  spake,  and  him  Beelzebub 

Thus  answered:  "  Leader  of  those  armies  bright, 

Which  but  th'  Omnipotent  none  could  have  foil' d.  .  .  ." 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost,  I,  271-273. 

Here  to  stress  distinctly  but,  -tent,  could  utterly  ruins 
both  the  meaning  and  the  music  of  the  line:  to  utter 
the  words  as  if  they  were  ordinary  prose  would  pre- 
serve the  meaning,  but  destroy  the  verse-movement. 
In  Milton's  ear,  however,  and  in  ours  if  we  do  not  re- 
sist, there  is  a  subtle  syncopation  of  four  beats  against 
five.  (Of  course  syncopation  alone  does  not  explain  the 

1  Patterson,  p.  xx,  n.  3. 

2  Experiments  have  shown  that  with  a  little  practice  one  can  learn  to 
beat  five  against  seven,  and  thus  actually  though  unconsciously  count  in 
thirty-fives.    (Patterson,  p.  6.) 

3  Those  who  are  interested  will  find  the  scientific  experiments  dis- 
cussed in  Patterson,  ch.  i  and  Appendix  III. 


20  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

rhythm  of  this  line.)   A  most  startling  syncopation  is 
ventured  by  Milton  in  Samson  Agonistes  (1071-72): 

I  less  conjecture  than  when  first  I  saw 
The  sumptuous  Ddlila  floating  this  way. 

Substitution  is  simpler.  It  merely  means  recognizing 
the  equivalence,  and  therefore  the  possibility  of  inter- 
change, of  a  long  interval  with  two  or  more  shorter  in- 
tervals whose  sum  equals  the  one  long.  That  is,  in 
music  two  quarter-notes  are  equal  to  a  half-note,  and 
they  may  be  anywhere  substituted  one  for  the  other; 
or  a  dotted  half-note  equal  three  quarter-notes,  etc. 
In  verse  it  means  that  three  syllables  (or  one,  or  even 
four)  may  be  substituted  for  the  normal  two  syllables 
of  a  foot  if  the  three  (or  one  or  four)  are  uttered  in 
approximately  the  same  period  of  time. 

The  term  substitution,  however,  may  be  used  in  a 
larger  sense.  Thus  far  only  the  purely  temporal  ele- 
ment of  the  rhythm  has  been  thought  of.  When  the 
two  others,  stress  and  pitch,  are  recalled,  it  becomes 
clear  that  another  sort  of  substitution  is  both  possible 
and  usual,  namely,  that  of  either  pitch  or  stress  for 
duration.  In  other  words,  the  groups  that  make  up  a 
rhythmic  series  may  be  determined  or  marked  off  by 
emphasis  of  pitch  or  emphasis  of  stress  as  well  as  by 
duration  of  time.  In  fact,  it  is  from  this  habitual  inter- 
play of  the  three  elements  that  most  of  the  complexity 
of  metre  arises;  as  it  is  the  failure  to  recognize  this  sub- 
stitution which  has  given  the  older  prosodies  much  of 
their  false  simplicity  and  their  mechanical  barrenness. 

Summary.  The  fundamental  problems  of  versifica- 
tion are  all  involved  in  the  principles  of  rhythm,  espe- 


RHYTHM  21 

cially  the  temporal  rhythm  of  language.  The  rhythm 
of  both  prose  and  verse  is  a  resultant  of  the  three  attri- 
butes of  sound:  stress,  duration,  and  pitch  (the  first 
two  being  usually  the  determining  elements,  the  third 
an  accessory  element)  modified  by  the  thought  and 
emotion  of  the  words.  The  feeling  for  this  rhythm,  or 
perception  of  it,  has  both  physical  and  psychological 
explanations,  and  varies  considerably  among  individ- 
uals, some  being  '  timers,'  others  *  stressers,'  appar- 
ently by  natural  endowment.  The  processes  of  our 
perception  of  rhythm  are  those  of  coordination,  or 
partly  subjective  reduction  of  actual  '  irregularities  ' 
to  a  standard  of  *  regularity ';  this  reduction  being 
accomplished  mainly  by  syncopation  and  substitution. 


CHAPTER  II 

RHYTHM  OF  PROSE  AND  VERSE 

IT  is  clear  now  that  all  language  is  more  or  less  def- 
initely rhythmical;  and  that  the  two  fundamental 
and  determining  elements  of  speech-rhythm  are  time 
and  stress.  It  is  clear  also  that  the  essential  thing  in 
our  perception  of  rhythm  is  the  experience  or  recogni- 
tion of  groups,  these  groups  being  themselves  dis- 
tinguished and  set  off  by  stress  and  time.  When  there 
is  an  easily  felt  regularity  of  the  groups,  when  the  al- 
ternation of  stress  and  unstress  and  the  approximate 
equality  of  the  time  intervals  are  fairly  apparent,  then 
the  rhythm  is  simple.  When  the  regularity  is  not  ob- 
vious, the  rhythm  is  complex,  but  none  the  less  exist- 
ent and  pleasing.1  In  other  words,  the  character  of 
language  rhythm  is  determined  by  the  relative  propor- 
tion of  coincidence  and  syncopation.  In  verse,  coin- 
cidence preponderates;  in  prose,  syncopation  (and 
substitution).  Between  absolute  coincidence,  more- 
over, and  the  freest  possible  syncopation  and  sub- 
stitution, infinite  gradations  are  possible;  and  many 
passages  indeed  lie  so  close  to  the  boundary  between 
recognizable  preponderance  of  the  one  or  of  the  other 
that  it  is  difficult  to  say  this  is  verse,  that  is  prose. 

1  When  no  organization  of  the  irregularity  is  possible,  the  language  is 
unrhythmical;  and  such,  of  course,  is  often  the  case  in  bad  prose  and  bad 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  23 

Various  standards  and  conventions  enter  into  the 
decision. 

For  practical  convenience  three  main  sorts  of  rhyth- 
mic prose  may  be  distinguished:  (i)  characteristic 
prose,  or  that  in  which  no  regularity  (coincidence)  is 
easily  appreciable;  (2)  cadenced prose,  or  that  in  which 
the  regularity  is  perceptible,  but  unobtrusive,  and  (3) 
metrical  prose,  or  that  in  which  the  regularity  is  so 
noticeable  as  to  be  unpleasing.  No  very  clear  lines  can 
be  drawn;  nor  should  one  try  to  classify  more  than 
brief  passages  in  one  group  or  another.  And,  obviously, 
longer  selections  will  combine  two  or  more  sorts  in  suc- 
cession. A  few  examples  will  serve  to  show  what  is 
meant. 

Characteristic  Prose.  No  prose,  as  has  been  said 
above,  is  without  rhythmic  curves;  but  the  best  prose, 
that  which  always  keeps  in  view  the  best  ideals  of 
prose,  carefully  avoids  consecutive  repetitions  of  the 
same  rhythmic  patterns.  It  is  the  distinction  of  verse 
to  follow  a  chosen  pattern,  with  due  regard  to  the 
artistic  principles  of  variety  and  uniformity;  it  is  the 
distinction  of  prose  to  accomplish  its  object,  whether 
artistic  or  utilitarian,  without  encroaching  on  the 
boundaries  of  its  neighbor.  Prose  may  be  as  'poetic,' 
as  charged  with  powerful  emotion,  as  possible,  but  it 
remains  true  prose  only  when  it  refuses  to  borrow  aids 
from  the  characteristic  excellences  of  verse. 

To  be  sure,  it  is  not  always  easy  to  avoid  regular  pat- 
terns in  writing  the  most  ordinary  prose.  They  come 
uncalled;  they  seem  to  be  inherent  in  the  language. 
Here  is,  chosen  casually,  the  first  sentence  of  a  current 


24  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

news  item,  written  surely  without  artistic  elaboration, 
and  subjected,  moreover,  to  the  uncertainties  of  cable 
transmission.  It  was  no  doubt  farthest  from  the  cor- 
respondent's intention  to  write  '  numerous  '  prose; 
but  notice  how  the  sentence  may  be  divided  into  a 
series  of  rhythmic  groups  of  two  stresses  each,  with  a 
fairly  regular  number  of  accompanying  unstressed 
syllables: 

A  general  mobilization  |  in  Syria  has  been  ordered  |  as  a  reply 
to  the  French  |  ultimatum  to  King  Feisal  |  that  he  acquiesce  in 
the  French  |  mandate  for  Syria,  |  according  to  a  dispatch  |  to  the 
London  Times  |  from  Jerusalem. 

No  one  would  read  the  sentence  with  a  very  clear  feel- 
ing of  this  definite  movement;  in  fact,  to  do  so  rather 
obscures  the  meaning.  But  the  potential  rhythm  is 
there,  and  the  reader  with  a  keen  rhythmic  sense  will 
be  to  some  extent  aware  of  it. 

Again,  there  is  in  the  following  sentence  from  Dis- 
raeli's Endymion  a  latent  rhythm  which  actually  af" 
fects  the  purely  logical  manner  of  reading  it: 

She  persisted  in  her  dreams  of  riding  upon  elephants. 

Here  one  almost  inevitably  pauses  after  dreams  (or 
prolongs  the  word  beyond  its  natural  length),  though 
there  is  no  logical  reason  for  doing  so.  Why  ?  Partly, 
at  least,  because  persisted  in  her  dreams  and  of  riding 
upon  el-  have  the  same  '  swing/  and  the  parallelism  of 
mere  sound  seems  to  require  the  pause. 

For  these  reasons,  then,  among  others,  the  most 
'  natural '  spontaneous  and  straightforward  prose  is 
not  always  the  best.  Study  and  careful  revision  are 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  25 

necessary  in  order  to  avoid  an  awkward  and  unpleasant 
monotony  of  rhythmic  repetition,  and  at  the  same  time 
obtain  a  flow  of  sound  which  will  form  a  just  musical 
accompaniment  to  the  ideas  expressed.  Only  the  great 
prose  masters  have  done  this  with  complete  success. 
Of  the  three  following  examples  the  first  is  from  Bacon; 
the  second  is  from  Milton,  who  as  a  poet  might  have 
been  expected  to  fall  into  metre  while  writing  emotional 
prose;  the  third  is  from  Walter  Pater  —  the  famous 
translation  into  words  of  the  Mona  Lisa  painted  by 
Leonardo  da  Vinci.  The  first  is  elaborate  but  unaf- 
fected, the  second  is  probably  spontaneous,  the  third 
highly  studied. 

This  kind  of  degenerate  learning  did  chiefly  reign  amongst  the 
schoolmen:  who  having  sharp  and  strong  wits,  and  abundance  of 
leisure,  and  small  variety  of  reading,  but  their  wits  being  shut  up 
in  the  cells  of  a  few  authors  (chiefly  Aristotle  their  dictator)  as 
their  persons  were  shut  up  in  the  cells  of  monasteries  and  colleges, 
and  knowing  little  history,  either  of  nature  or  time,  did  out  of  no 
great  quantity  of  matter  and  infinite  agitation  of  wit  spin  out 
unto  us  those  laborious  webs  of  learning  which  are  extant  in  their 
books.  For  the  wit  and  mind  of  man,  if  it  work  upon  matter, 
which  is  the  contemplation  of  the  creatures  of  God,  worketh  ac- 
cording to  the  stuff  and  is  limited  thereby;  but  if  it  work  upon 
itself,  as  the  spider  worketh  his  web,  then  it  is  endless,  and  brings 
forth  indeed  cobwebs  of  learning,  admirable  for  the  fineness  of 
thread  and  work,  but  of  no  substance  or  profit. 

Advancement  of  Learning,  Bk.  I,  iv,  5. 

Truth  indeed  came  once  into  the  world  with  her  divine  Master, 
and  was  a  perfect  shape  most  glorious  to  look  on;  but  when  he  as- 
cended, and  his  Apostles  after  him  were  laid  asleep,  then  straight 
arose  a  wicked  race  of  deceivers,  who,  as  that  story  goes  of  the 
Egyptian  Typhon  with  his  conspirators  how  they  dealt  with  the 
good  Osiris,  took  the  virgin  Truth,  hewed  her  lovely  form  into  a 
thousand  pieces,  and  scattered  them  to  the  four  winds.  From  that 


26  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

time  ever  since,  the  sad  friends  of  Truth,  such  as  durst  appear, 
imitating  the  careful  search  that  Isis  made  for  the  mangled  body 
of  Osiris,  went  up  and  down  gathering  up  limb  by  limb  still  as 
they  could  find  them.  Areopagitica. 

Hers  is  the  head  upon  which  all  "the  ends  of  the  world  are 
come,"  and  the  eyelids  are  a  little  weary.  It  is  a  beauty  wrought 
from  within  upon  the  flesh,  the  deposit,  little  cell  by  cell,  of 
strange  thoughts  and  fantastic  reveries  and  exquisite  passions. 
.  .  .  She  is  older  than  the  rocks  among  which  she  sits;  like  the 
vampire,  she  has  been  dead  many  times,  and  learned  the  secrets  of 
the  grave;  and  has  been  a  diver  in  deep  seas,  and  keeps  their 
fallen  day  about  her;  and  trafficked  for  strange  webs  with  Eastern 
merchants:  and,  as  Leda,  was  the  mother  of  Helen  of  Troy,  and, 
as  Saint  Anne,  the  mother  of  Mary;  and  all  this  has  been  to  her 
but  as  the  sound  of  lyres  and  flutes,  and  lives  only  in  the  del- 
icacy with  which  it  has  moulded  the  changing  lineaments,  and 
tinged  the  eyelids  and  the  hands. 

"  Leonardo  da  Vinci,"  in  The  Renaissance. 

Here  no  continuous  patterns  are  recognizable,  yet 
the  whole  is  felt  to  be  musically  and  appropriately 
rhythmic.  In  the  next  excerpt,  however  (from  John 
Donne),  and  in  many  passages  in  the  Authorized 
Version  of  the  Psalms,  of  Job,  of  the  Prophets,  there 
is  a  visible  balance  of  phrases  and  of  clauses,  a  long 
undulating  swing  which  one  perceives  at  once,  though 
only  half  consciously,  and  which  approaches,  if  it  does 
not  actually  possess,  the  intentional  coincidence  of 
cadenced  prose. 

If  some  king  of  the  earth  have  so  large  an  extent  of  dominion  in 
north  and  south  as  that  he  hath  winter  and  summer  together  in 
his  dominions;  so  large  an  extent  east  and  west  as  that  he  hath 
day  and  night  together  in  his  dominions,  much  more  hath  God 
mercy  and  justice  together.  He  brought  light  out  of  darkness, 
not  out  of  a  lesser  light;  He  can  bring  thy  summer  out  of  winter 
though  thou  have  no  spring;  though  in  the  ways  of  fortune,  or  of 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  27 

understanding,  or  conscience,  thou  have  been  benighted  till  now, 
wintered  and  frozen,  smothered  and  stupefied  till  now,  now  God 
comes  to  thee,  not  as  in  the  dawning  of  the  day,  not  as  in  the  bud 
of  the  spring,  but  as  the  sun  at  noon  to  illustrate  all  shadows,  as 
the  sheaves  in  harvest  to  fill  all  penuries.  All  occasions  invite  His 
mercies,  and  all  times  are  His  seasons. 

Cadenced  Prose.  Cadenced  prose  is  in  English  chiefly 
an  historical  phenomenon  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
It  is  part  of  the  late  Renaissance  literary  movement, 
when  prose,  after  vaguely  classic  models,  was  held 
worth  cultivating  on  its  own  account;  and  is  in  some 
degree  a  tempered  afterglow  of  the  crude  brilliance  of 
euphuistic  balance  and  alliteration.  It  made  no  ef- 
fort to  conceal  its  definite  rhythmic  movements  — 
rather,  it  gloried  in  them;  but  was  always  careful  that 
they  should  not  become  monotonous  or  too  palpable. 

In  the  following  examples  the  rhythmic  units  are  for 
the  sake  of  clearness  indicated  by  separate  lines,  after 
the  fashion  of  '  free-verse.'  The  passages  should  be 
read  first  with  the  line-division  uppermost  in  the  at- 
tention; then  as  continuous  prose.  The  result  of  the 
second  reading  will  be  perhaps  a  fuller  appreciation  of 
the  rhythmic  richness  of  the  sentences,  both  as  to 
variety  and  uniformity.  Sing-song  and  *  pounding  ' 
are  by  all  means  to  be  deprecated. 

(a)  Simple  two-  and  three-beat  rhythms  — 

O  eloquent  just 
and  mighty  Death! 
whom  none  could  advise 
thou  hast  persuaded; 
what  none  hath  dared 
thou  hast  done; 


28  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

and  whom  all  the  world  hath  flattered 
thou  only  hast  cast  out  of  the  world 
and  despised. 

Thou  hast  drawn  together 
all  the  far-stretched  greatness 
all  the  pride  cruelty 

and  ambition  of  man, 

and  covered  it  all  over 

with  these  two 

narrow  words 

Hie  jacet. 
SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH,  History  of  the  World,  Bk.  V,  ch.  vi. 

(b)  Simple  three-  and  four-beat  rhythms  — 

They  that  have  great  intrigues  of  the  world 

have  a  yoke  upon  their  necks 

and  cannot  look  back. 
And  he  that  covets  many  things  greedily 

and  snatches  at  high  things  ambitiously 

that  despises  his  neighbor  proudly 

and  bears  his  crosses  peevishly 

or  his  prosperity  impotently  and  passionately 
he  that  is  a  prodigal  of  his  precious  time 
and  is  tenacious  and  retentive  of  evil  purposes 
is  not  a  man  disposed  to  this  exercise: 
he  hath  reason  to  be  afraid  of  his  own  memory 

and  to  dash  his  glass  in  pieces 
because  it  must  needs  represent  to  his  own  eyes 

an  intolerable  deformity. 

JEREMY  TAYLOR,  Holy  Dying,  ch.  ii,  sect.  a. 

(c)  Mainly  two-beat  rhythms  — 

Now  since  these  dead  bones 

have  already  outlasted 

the  living  ones  of  Methuselah 

and  in  a  yard  under  ground 

and  thin  walls  of  clay 

outworn  all  the  strong 
and  spacious  buildings  above  it, 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  29 

and  quietly  rested 

under  the  drums  and  tramplings 

of  three  conquests; 

what  Prince  can  promise 

such  diuturnity 

unto  his  reliques 

or  might  not  gladly 

say 
'  Sic  ego  componi  versus  in  ossa  velim.' 

SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE,  Urn  Burial,  ch.  v. 

(d)  Mainly  three-beat  rhythms  — 

What  song  the  Syrens  sang 
or  what  name  Achilles  assumed 
when  he  hid  himself  among  women 

though  puzzling  questions 
are  not  beyond  all  conjecture. 
What  time  the  persons  of  these  ossuaries 
entered  the  famous  nations  of  the  dead 
and  slept  with  princes  and  counsellors 
might  admit  a  wide  solution. 
But  who  were  the  proprietaries  of  these  bones 
or  what  bodies  these  ashes  made  up 
were  a  question  above  antiquarism; 
not  to  be  resolved  by  man 
nor  easily  perhaps  by  spirits 
except  we  consult  the  provincial 
guardians  or  tutelary  Observators. 

Ibid. 

Metrical  Prose.  The  above  passages  are  daring,  but 
greatly  daring.  So  great  is  the  subtlety,  the  variety, 
the  art,  that  they  never  fail  of  their  intended  effect. 
They  are  justifiable  because  they  justify  themselves  — 
partly  by  their  lofty  and  dignified  content,  partly  of 
course  by  their  sheer  artistry.  But  when  the  same 
thing  is  attempted  by  unskilful  hands  it  fails  inglo- 
riously.  We  say  it  has  "a  palpable  design  upon  us," 


30  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

and  balk.  Gibbon  and  Burke,  as  inheritors  of  the 
seventeenth-century  tradition,  sometimes  fell  into  the 
error;  Ruskin,  with  his  '  poetical '  style,  was  sometimes 
guilty;  but  the  worst  and  most  conspicuous  offenders 
were  Dickens  and  Blackmore.  Examples  are  abundant. 
Not  all  are  equally  unpleasant;  the  individual  taste  of 
some  readers  will  approve  passages  which  others  will 
reject.  With  Dickens  and  Blackmore,  however,  the 
phenomenon  approaches  downright  deliberate  trick- 
iness. 

The  calculation  of  profit  in  all  such  wars  is  false.  On  balancing 
the  account  of  such  wars,  ten  thousand  hogsheads  of  sugar  are 
purchased  at  ten  thousand  times  their  price.  The  blood  of  man 
should  never  be  shed  but  to  redeem  the  blood  of  man.  It  is  well 
shed  for  our  family,  for  our  friends,  for  our  God,  for  our  country, 
for  our  kind.  The  rest  is  vanity;  the  rest  is  crime. 

BURKE,  Letters  on  a  Regicide  Peace,  I. 

When  Death  strikes  down  the  innocent  and  young 
for  every  fragile  form  from  which  he  lets 
the  panting  spirit  free 
a  hundred  virtues  rise 
in  shapes  of  mercy,  charity,  and  love, 

to  walk  the  world  and  bless  it. 
Of  every  tear  that  sorrowing  mortals  shed 
on  such  green  graves 
some  good  is  born 
some  gentler  nature  comes. 

DICKENS,  Old  Curiosity  Shop,  ch.  72 . 

"I  wear  the  chain  I  forged  in  life,"  replied  the  Ghost, 
"I  made  it  link  by  link,  and  yard  by  yard." 

DICKENS,  Christmas  Carol. 

I  cannot  rest,  I  cannot  stay, 
I  cannot  linger  anywhere. 

Ibid. 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  31 

Much  they  saw  and  far  they  went, 
and  many  homes  they  visited, 
but  always  with  a  happy  end. 

DICKENS,  Christmas  Carol. 

But  above  the  curved  soft  elbow, 
where  no  room  was  for  one  cross  word 
(according  to  our  proverb) 
three  sad  gashes 
edged  with  crimson 
spoiled  the  flow  of  the  pearly  flesh. 

BLACKMORE,  Lorna  Doone,  ch.  38. 

A  peculiar  instance  of  metrical  prose,  avowedly  an 
experiment  and  fortunately  (as  most  will  think)  not 
repeated,  is  the  passage  near  the  end  of  Kingsley's 
Westward  Ho!  Kingsley  called  it  '  prose  shaped  into 
song.'  The  objection  is  simply  that  in  such  a  situation 
song  is  out  of  place.  Let  prose  do  the  legitimate  work 
of  prose;  and  when  the  intensity  of  feeling  justifies 
song,  let  there  be  song.  No  hybrids,  no  cross-breeding 
—  unless,  as  here,  for  purposes  of  experiment.  Here  is 
a  part  of  the  passage: 

Then  he  took  a  locket  from  his  bosom;  and  I  heard  him  speak, 
Will,  and  he  said:  "Here's  the  picture  of  my  fair  and  true  lady; 
drink  to  her,  Senors,  all."  Then  he  spoke  to  me,  Will,  and  called 
me,  right  up  through  the  oar-weed  and  the  sea:  "We  have  had  a 
fair  quarrel,  Senor;  it  is  time  to  be  friends  once  more.  My  wife 
and  your  brother  have  forgiven  me;  so  your  honour  takes  no 
stain." 

Elements  of  Prose  Rhythm.  Thus  far  the  discussion  of 
language  rhythm  has  been  confined  to  a  general  percep- 
tion of  rhythmic  movement.  When  an  attempt  is  made 
to  carry  the  investigation  into  greater  detail,  more  dif- 
ficult and  from  a  prosodic  point  of  view  really  crucial 


32  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

problems  present  themselves.  The  essential  thing  in 
any  perception  of  rhythm  is  the  experience  of  groups; 
but  what  are  the  nature  and  determining  qualities  of 
these  groups?  In  music  there  are  bars  —  the  primary 
rhythmic  group,  comprising  a  single  rhythmic  wave, 
that  is,  covering  the  time-distance  from  one  point  of 
division  to  another  —  phrases,  cadences,  etc.  The 
dual  nature  of  language,  however,  its  union  of  sound 
elements  and  thought  elements,  gives  the  question  an- 
other aspect.  Corresponding  to  the  musical  bar  there 
is  the  metrical  foot;  to  the  musical  phrase,  the  logical 
phrase;  to  the  musical  cadence,  a  similar  melodious 
flow  of  word-sounds.  But  there  are  also  in  prose  what 
are  called  breath-groups  and  attention-groups,  series 
of  words  bound  together  by  the  physiological  require- 
ments of  utterance  and  the  mental  requirements  of 
perception  and  understanding.1  The  first  step  towards 
clearness  will  be  a  closer  distinction  between  prose  and 
metrical  rhythms. 

Syllable.  The  simplest  and  smallest  unit  of  speech- 
sound  is  the  syllable;  then  follow,  in  increasing  magni- 
tude, the  word,  the  phrase  (that  is,  words  held  together 
by  their  meaning  or  by  their  sound),  the  clause,  the 
sentence,  the  paragraph.  These  units  exist  in  verse  as 
well  as  in  prose,  but  while  verse  has  other  units  (which 
are  arbitrary  and  artificial),  prose  rhythm  has  only 
these.  The  rhythm  of  a  paragraph  is  determined  by 
the  length,  structure,  content,  and  arrangement  of  the 
sentences;  that  of  a  sentence  by  the  length,  structure, 

1  Compare  the  sentence  from  Disraeli  on  page  24,  above. 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  33 

content,  and  arrangement  of  the  phrases;  that  of  the 
phrase  by  the  length,  structure,  content,  and  arrange- 
ment of  the  words;  that  of  a  word  by  the  character  of 
the  syllables.  Now  syllables,  as  has  been  explained 
above,  have  the  sound  attributes  of  duration,  inten- 
sity (or  lack  of  intensity),  and  pitch — called,  however, 
in  the  terminology  of  phonetics,  length  or  quantity, 
accent  (or  no  accent),  and  pitch.  These  must  be 
studied  individually  before  their  combined  effects  can 
be  understood. 

Length.  Length  is  of  course  comparative.  Some 
vowels  require  a  longer  time  to  enunciate  than  others: 
the  e  in  penal  than  the  /  in  pin,  the  o  in  coat  than  the  o 
in  cot,  etc.  Again,  some  consonants  are  shorter  by 
nature  than  others:  the  explosives/),  /,  k,  etc.,  than  the 
continuants  s,  z,  th,f,  m,  n,  I,  etc.  When  vowels  and 
consonants  are  combined  into  syllables  the  compara- 
tive length  is  still  more  apparent:  thus  form  is  longer 
than  god,  stole  than  poke,  curl  than  cut,  etc.  Moreover, 
it  \s  not  alone  the  natural  quantity  of  vowels  and  con- 
sonants that  affects  or  determines  their  length,  but  also 
their  position  in  a  word  and  in  a  sentence.  Thus,  for 
example,  the  same  sounds  are  uttered  more  rapidly 
when  closely  followed  by  one  or  more  syllables  than 
when  alone:  as  bit,  bitter,  bitterly;  hard,  hardy,  hardily. 
This  elasticity  of  syllabic  quantity  is  clearly  shown  in 
Verrier's  examples :  * 

1  Vol.  i,  pp.  79,  80.  The  musical  notation  must  be  taken  as  merely 
approximate. 


34  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

J.     J/J      /.//   J/ 

They  come  fast  —  faster  yet  —  faster  and  faster 

;  j  j  ;  J.    /;;;.;. 

Barren  mountain  tracts  —  barren  affections. 

These  indications,  moreover,  cover  normal  utterance 
only;  in  emotional  language  or  elocutionary  delivery 
there  are  deliberate  and  arbitrary  lengthenings  and 
shortenings.1 

Accent  and  Stress.  The  term  accent  may  best  be  re- 
served for  grammatical  or  dictionary  accent  —  the 
greater  emphasis  placed  according  to  standard  usage 
upon  one  syllable  of  a  word  as  compared  with  the 
others.  Thus  portion  has  an  accent  on  the  first  syllable, 
material  on  the  second,  apprehension  on  the  third,  de- 
liberation on  the  fourth.  The  other  syllables  are  either 
unaccented,  as  the  first  of  material  and  the  second  of 
portion,  or  have  a  secondary  accent,  as  the  second  of 
deliberation. 

Accent  should  be  distinguished  from  stress,  which  is 
the  rhythmical  emphasis  in  a  series  of  sounds.  In 
prose  the  rhythmical  stress  is  determined  almost 
wholly  by  accent;  in  verse  the  two  sometimes  coincide 
and  sometimes  differ  markedly. 

In  certain  words  whose  accent  is  somewhat  evenly 
divided  between  two  syllables,  and  in  certain  combina- 

1  Experiments  have  been  made  to  obtain  absolute  measurements  of 
syllabic  quantity,  and  elaborate  rules  formulated  for  determining  longs 
and  shorts.  Thus  far,  however,  the  results  have  been  very  variable  and 
unsatisfactory,  and  should  be  accepted  with  great  caution. 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  35 

tions  of  monosyllables,  there  is  a  tendency  to  subject 
even  grammatical  accent  to  rhythmical  stress.  Hence 
the  common  pronunciations  Newfoundland,  Haw- 
fhomden;  the  alternation  of  stress  in  poor  old  man,  sad 
hurt  heart;  and  the  shift  of  accent  in  "In  a  Cfo'nese 
restaurant  the  waiters  are  Chinese" 

Pitch.  Pitch  is  a  very  uncertain  and  variable  phe- 
nomenon. For  the  most  part  it  is  an  ornament  or  aid 
to  simple  language  rhythms,  but  under  some  conditions 
it  plays  an  important  role  which  cannot  be  neglected. 
Because  of  the  physical  structure  of  the  vocal  organs 
pitch  is  constantly  changing  in  spoken  discourse, 
though  often  the  changes  are  not  readily  perceptible. 
Usually  it  coincides  with  accent.1  It  is  also  a  frequent 
but  by  no  means  regular  means  of  intensifying  accent: 
compare  "That  was  done  simply"  (normal  utterance) 
with  "That  was  simply  wonderful"  (intensive  utter- 
ance). On  the  other  hand  pitch  and  accent  sometimes 
clash:  compare  "The  idea  is  good"  (normal  utterance) 
with  "The  /deal"  (exclamatory).  Other  examples  of 

1  To  adduce  Greek  in  explanation  of  English  pitch  would  be  a  clear 
case  of  ignotum  per  ignotius.  But  interesting  parallels  have  been  noted  by 
Mr.  Stone  (in  R.  Bridges,  Milton's  Prosody,  id  ed.).  "The  ordinary  un- 
emphatic  English  accent,"  he  says,  "is  exactly  a  raising  of  pitch,  and 
nothing  more  "  (p.  143);  and  there  are  similar  habits  in  English  and 
Greek  of  turning  the  grave  accent  into  acute,  as  in  to  g&t  money  and  to  git 
it.  The  Greeks  recognized  three  degrees  of  pitch:  the  acute  (high),  and 
the  grave  (low),  (which,  according  to  Dionysius,  differed  by  about  the 
musical  interval  of  a  fifth),  and  midway,  the  circumflex.  Compare  thdt? 
(acute,  expressing  surprise);  thdt?  (circumflex,  expressing  doubt);  and  thdt 
book  (grave  —  'book'  and  not  ' table ')•  The  main  difference  between 
the  two  languages  is  that  so  far  as  we  can  tell  classical  Greek  had  (very 
much  like  modern  French)  a  pitch-accent  and  very  little  or  no  stress- 
accent,  whereas  English  has  both  (though  stress-accent  preponderates). 


36  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

pitch  as  a  significant  factor  in  prose  are:  "One  should 
not  say  '  good  '  but  '  good/y,'  not  '  brave  '  but 
'  brave/y  '  ";  "Not  praise  but  praising  gives  him  de- 
light." 1 

Another  aspect  of  pitch  is  that  which  in  the  rhet- 
orics is  usually  called  inflection.  A  question  is  uttered 
with  rising  inflection,  that  is,  with  a  higher  pitch  at  the 
end.  Declarative  sentences  usually  have  a  falling  in- 
flection just  before  the  final  period,  that  is,  a  lower 
pitch.  Exclamations  often  have  a  circumflex  inflection, 
as  "Really!"  spoken  in  a  sarcastic  tone;  that  is,  the 
pitch  rises  and  falls. 

Experimental  attempts  to  indicate  variations  of 
pitch  by  our  common  musical  notation  are  given  by 
Verrier.  A  single  example  will  suffice  here.2 


I  come  from  haunts  of    coot  and  hern 

Perhaps  the  most  important  aspect  of  pitch  from  the 
point  of  view  of  rhythm  is  its  actual  influence  upon  ac- 
cent. We  say  naturally:  "He  was^teen  years  old"; 
but  place  the  numeral  for  emphasis  at  the  end  of  the 
sentence  and  it  receives  a  kind  of  pitch  accent:  "His 

1  Cf.  J.  W.  Bright,  "Proper  Names  in  Old  English  Verse,"  Publica- 
tions of  the  Modern  Language  Association,  vol.  14  (1899),  pp.  347  ff. ; 
especially  pp.  363-365. 

1  Verrier,  vol.  iii,  p.  229.  A  more  ambitious  attempt,  from  Pierson, 
M6trique  naturelle  du  langage  (Paris,  1884),  pp.  226,  227,  is  given  by 
Verrier,  vol.  ii,  p.  14  —  a  musical  transcription  of  the  opening  verses 
of  Racine's  Athalie. 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  37 

age  was  fifteen."   Compare  also  CAmese  and  Chinese  in 
the  example  above. 

Observe  carefully  the  elements  of  duration,  stress, 
accent,  and  pitch  in  the  following  sentences: 

Now  he  's  a  great  big  man. 

He  was  a  remarkable  young  fellow,  but  he  had  an  «»govern- 
able  temper. 

Off  went  Joy;  on  came  Despair. 

Word  and  Phrase  Rhythm.  The  next  larger  unit  after 
the  syllable  is  the  word;  after  the  word,  the  phrase. 
Something  has  already  been  said  in  the  previous  para- 
graphs on  word  and  phrase  rhythm:  it  remains  to 
examine  them  more  closely. 

Words  vary  in  length  from  one  to  eight  or  even  ten 
syllables;  and  the  accents  (main  and  secondary)  may 
fall  on  any  of  these  syllables  according  to  the  origin 
and  historical  development  of  the  word  —  thus  words 
of  two  syllables :  apple,  alone ;  of  three  syllables :  beauti- 
ful, accession,  apperceive;  of  four  syllables:  apoplexy, 
material,  evolution,  interrelate.  But  generally  in  poly- 
syllables the  tendency  to  rhythmic  alternation  of  stress 
produces  one  or  more  secondary  accents  more  or  less 
distinctly  felt;  thus  on  the  first  syllable  of  apperceive 
and  on  the  third  of  apoplexy  there  is  an  obvious  second- 
ary accent;  on  the  third  syllable  of  beautiful  and  the 
fourth  of  material  there  are  potential  accents,  not 
regularly  felt  as  such  but  capable,  under  certain  cir- 
cumstances, of  rhythmic  stress.  For  example,  in  the 
phrase  '  beautiful  clothes  '  there  is  no  accent  and  no 
stress  on  -/«/;  but  in  '  beautiful  attire  '  the  syllable  -ful 
receives  a  very  slight  accent  (properly  not  recognized 


38  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

by  the  dictionaries)  which  can  well  serve  as  a  weak 
rhythmic  stress.  Long  words  illustrate  the  same 
principle:  antitranssubstantionalistic,  pseudomonocotyle- 
donous,  perfectibiliarianism.  This  potential  stress  is  of 
the  utmost  importance  in  verse  —  as  when  Milton  out 
of  three  words,  two  of  which  have  no  recognized  sec- 
ondary accent,  makes  a  5-stress  line: 

Immutable,  immortal,  infinite. 

Paradise  Lost,  III,  373. 

The  result  of  this  tendency  to  alternation,  or  in  other 
words  of  the  difficulty  of  pronouncing  more  than  three 
consecutive  syllables  without  introducing  a  secondary 
accent  or  stress,  is  that  English  phrases  fall  naturally 
into  four  rhythmic  patterns  or  movements  (and  their 
combinations) :  I .  accent  +  no-accent  (a.  one  syl- 
lable,  b.  two  syllables);  2.  no-accent  (a.  one  syllable, 
b.  two  syllables)  +  accent.  Examples:  la  beauty ,  ib 
beautiful,  ISL  relate,  2b  intercede.  These  four  movements 
are  variously  named :  the  first  two  are  called/tf///»jpj  the 
second  two  rising;  la  and  2a  are  called  duple  or  dissyl- 
labic, ib  and  2b  triple  or  trisyllabic;  la  is  called  tro- 
chaic, ib  dactylic,  2a  iambic,  2b  anapestic  (after  the 
names  of  the  metrical  feet  in  classical  prosody).  Beauty, 
by  this  usage,  is  a  trochee,  beautiful  a  dactyl,  relate  an 
iamb,  intercede  an  anapest.  But  these  patterns  alone 
are  by  no  means  sufficient  to  explain  or  register  all  the 
phrasal  movements  of  English  prose  —  as  a  single 
sentence  will  show. 

He  that  hath  wife  and  children  |  hath  given  hostages  |  to  for- 
tune, |  for  they  are  impediments  |  to  great  enterprises  |  either  of 
virtue  |  or  of  mischief.  BACON,  Essay  VIII. 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  39 

Here  the  first  phrase  is  in  falling  rhythm,  the  second 
(probably)  in  rising  rhythm,  the  third  is  —  rising  or 
falling?  To  some  readers  it  will  appear  of  one  sort,  to 
others  of  another.  The  fourth  phrase  is  probably  ris- 
ing, the  fifth  doubtful,  the  sixth  falling,  the  seventh 
probably  rising.  To  say  that  the  first  phrase  is  made  up 
of  a  dactyl  and  two  trochees  means  very  little.  The 
primary  fact  to  be  recognized  and  understood  is  that 
these  four  patterns  exist  in  English  speech  not  as 
absolute  entities  but  as  tendencies.  In  prose  they  are 
discontinuous,  irregularly  alternating,  often  hardly 
perceptible;  but  they  are  there  as  potential  forces  whose 
latent  effects  are  brought  out  by  regular  metre. 

Another  problem  at  once  obvious  is  to  determine  the 
limits  of  a  phrase.  Some  readers  will  feel  "  to  fortune  " 
in  the  above  sentence  as  a  separate  phrase,  others  will 
join  it  to  the  three  words  that  precede.  No  rules  can  be 
laid  down.  Two  tentative  but  useful  criteria  are  pos- 
sible, however.  A  phrase  may  be  regarded  as  purely 
musical,  a  group  of  sounds  that  either  by  their  own 
nature  or  by  their  possibility  of  utterance  in  a  single 
expulsion  of  breath  seem  to  belong  together.  But  this 
is  an  uncertain  criterion,  since  we  separate  the  sounds 
of  words  with  great  difficulty  from  their  meaning,  and 
the  periods  of  breathing  are  subject  to  arbitrary  con- 
trol. And  some  phrases  are  uttered  in  much  less  than 
the  time  required  in  normal  breathing.  The  other 
criterion,  sometimes  supporting  sometimes  contradict- 
ing the  former,  is  the  logical  content  of  words.  But 
this  also  is  uncertain,  since  logical  content  ought  to  hold 
subject  and  verb  together,  whereas  in  the  example 


4o  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

above  it  clearly  does  not.  And  neither  breath  group- 
ing nor  logical  grouping  will  enable  us  to  determine 
whether  "  either  of  virtue  or  of  mischief"  is  two  phrases 
or  one. 

The  limits  of  the  sentence,  with  its  clauses,  are, 
largely  through  the  modern  conventions  of  printing, 
more  distinctly  felt  and  observed.  But  its  rhythm  is 
none  the  less  complex.  For  it  is  not  only  the  sum  of  the 
smaller  rhythmic  movements  of  word  and  phrase  and 
clause,  but  forms  a  new  entity  of  itself,  created  by  the 
union  of  the  lesser  elements — just  as  a  building  is 
more  than  its  component  bricks,  stones,  and  timbers. 

Composite  Speech  Rhythm.  Such,  briefly  described, 
are  the  rhythmic  elements  of  spoken  English  prose. 
When  only  small  sections  are  analyzed  singly,  it  is  pos- 
sible to  understand  something,  at  least,  of  the  intricate 
pattern  of  forces  which  are  interwoven  in  the  rhythms 
of  ordinary  language.  When  one  undertakes  to  analyze 
and  express  the  combined  rhythms  —  musical,  logical, 
emotional  —  of  connected  sentences  and  paragraphs, 
one  finds  no  system  of  notation  adequate;  the  melodies 
and  harmonies  disappear  in  the  process  of  being  ex- 
plained. Those  who  wish  to  enjoy  to  the  fullest  the 
rhythmic  beauties  of  English  prose  must  patiently 
scrutinize  the  smallest  details,  then  study  the  details  in 
larger  and  still  larger  combinations  —  the  balance  and 
contrast  of  phrases,  the  alternation  of  dependent  and 
independent  clauses,  the  varieties  of  long  and  short 
sentences,  of  simple,  compound,  periodic  sentences  — 
and  finally  endeavor  to  rejoin  the  parts  into  a  com- 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  41 

plete  whole.  To  pursue  the  subject  further  would  be 
to  encroach  upon  the  domain  of  formal  rhetoric  and 
would  be  out  of  place  here.  The  best  counsel  is  the  old 
counsel :  try  to  understand  zndfeet  the  great  passages  of 
the  great  prose  masters.  A  few  examples  have  been 
given  on  pages  25  ff.,  above;  they  should  be  studied 
diligently. 

Prose  and  Verse  Rhythm.  It  is  but  a  short  step  from 
the  occasional  regularity  of  rhythm  in  the  passages  on 
pages  27-29  to  the  deliberately  continuous  regularity 
of  verse.  A  tendency  to  rhythmic  flow,  it  has  already 
been  shown,  is  inherent  in  ordinary  language.  When 
the  words  are  made  to  convey  heightened  emotion  this 
tendency  is  increased,  and  "the  deeper  the  feeling,  the 
more  characteristic  and  decided  the  rhythm"  (John 
Stuart  Mill).  Then,  as  Coleridge  says,  "the  wheels 
take  fire  from  the  mere  rapidity  of  their  motion,"  and 

finally  we  have 

high  and  passionate  thoughts 
To  their  own  music  chanted. 

Intensified,  regularized  rhythm  is  reciprocally  both  a 
result  of  impassioned  feeling  and  a  cause  of  it:  hence 
its  double  function  in  poetry.  It  springs,  on  the  one 
hand,  from  "  the  high  spiritual  instinct  of  the  human 
being  impelling  us  to  seek  unity  by  harmonious  adjust- 
ment and  thus  establishing  the  principle  that  all  the 
parts  of  an  organized  whole  must  be  assimilated  to  the 
more  important  and  essential  parts."  On  the  other 
hand,  it  "resembles  (if  the  aptness  of  the  simile  may 
excuse  its  meanness)  yeast,  worthless  or  disagreeable 


42  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

by  itself,  but  giving  vivacity  and  spirit  to  the  liquor 
with  which  it  is  proportionally  combined."  l 

The  question  is  as  old  as  Aristotle,  whether  metre, 
that  is,  regularized  rhythm,  is  an  inalienable  and  neces- 
sary concomitant  of  poetry.  The  answer  rests  on  a 
precise  understanding  of  terms;  for  the  right  antithesis, 
so  far  as  there  is  one,  is  not  between  prose  and  poetry, 
but  between  prose  and  verse.  High  and  passionate 
thoughts,  true  poetical  feeling  and  expression  may  and 
do  exist  in  prose,  but  their  most  natural  and  character- 
istic expression  is  in  verse.  The  old  question  has  been 
lately  reopened,  however,  by  the  anomalous  form 
called  '  free-verse.'  Only  the  name  is  new;  the  thing 
itself  is,  at  its  best,  but  a  carefully  rhythmed  prose 
printed  in  a  new  shape:  an  effort  to  combine  in  an  ef- 
fective union  some  of  the  characteristics  of  spatial 
rhythm  with  the  established  temporal  rhythms  of 
language.  Free-verse  will  be  discussed  more  fully  on 
a  later  page;  it  is  mentioned  here  because  it  is  a  nat- 
ural transition  between  prose  and  verse,  claiming  as 
it  does  the  freedom  of  the  one  and  the  powers  of  the 
other. 

1  Coleridge,  Biographia  Literaria,  ch.  xviii.  Compare  the  more 
poetical  expression  of  the  same  truth  in  Carlyle's  Heroes,  Hero- Worship, 
and  the  Heroic  in  History:  "Observe  too  how  all  passionate  language  does 
of  itself  become  musical  —  with  a  finer  music  than  the  mere  accent;  the 
speech  of  a  man  even  in  zealous  anger  becomes  a  chant,  a  song.  All  deep 
things  are  Song.  It  seems  somehow  the  very  central  essence  of  us,  Song; 
as  if  all  the  rest  were  but  wrappings  and  hulls!  The  primal  element  of  us; 
of  us,  and  of  all  things.  The  Greeks  fabled  of  Sphere-Harmonies:  it  was 
the  feeling  they  had  of  the  inner  structure  of  Nature;  that  the  soul  of  all 
her  voices  and  utterances  was  perfect  music.  .  .  .  See  deep  enough,  and 
you  see  musically;  the  heart  of  Nature  being  everywhere  music,  if  you  can 
only  reach  it."  (The  Hero  as  Poet.) 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  43 

Another  means  of  recognizing  the  close  relations  of 
verse  and  prose  is  to  try  to  determine  which  of  several 
passages  of  similarly  heightened  emotion,  printed  in 
the  same  form,  was  originally  verse  and  which  prose. 

Yet,  as  I  would  not  catch  your  love  with  a  lie,  but  force  you  to 
love  me  as  I  am,  faulty,  imperfect,  human,  so  I  would  not  cheat 
your  inward  being  with  untrue  hopes  nor  confuse  pure  truth  with 
a  legend.  This  only  I  have:  I  am  true  to  my  truth,  I  have  not 
faltered;  and  my  own  end,  the  sudden  departure  from  the  virile 
earth  I  love  so  eagerly,  once  such  a  sombre  matter,  now  appears 
nothing  beside  this  weightier,  more  torturing  bereavement. 

But  follow;  let  the  torrent  dance  thee  down  to  find  him  in  the 
valley;  let  the  wild  lean-headed  eagles  yelp  alone,  and  leave  the 
monstrous  ledges  there  to  slope,  and  spill  their  thousand  wreaths 
of  dangling  water-smoke,  that  like  a  broken  purpose  waste  in  air. 
So  waste  not  thou;  but  come;  for  all  the  vales  await  thee;  azure 
pillars  of  the  hearth  arise  to  thee;  the  children  call,  I  thy  shepherd 
pipe. 

A  late  lark  twitters  from  the  quiet  skies;  and  from  the  west, 
where  the  sun,  his  day's  work  ended,  lingers  as  in  content,  there 
falls  on  the  old,  gray  city  an  influence  luminous  and  serene,  a 
shining  peace.  The  smoke  ascends  in  a  rosy-and-golden  haze.  The 
spires  shine,  and  are  changed.  In  the  valley  shadows  rise.  The 
lark  sings  on.  The  sun,  closing  his  benediction,  sinks,  and  the 
darkening  air  thrills  with  a  sense  of  the  triumphing  night  — 
night  with  her  train  of  stars  and  her  great  gift  of  sleep. 

There,  suddenly,  within  that  crimson  radiance,  rose  the  appari- 
tion of  a  woman's  head,  and  then  of  a  woman's  figure.  The  child 
it  was  —  grown  up  to  woman's  height.  Clinging  to  the  horns  of 
the  altar,  voiceless  she  stood  —  sinking,  rising,  raving,  despair- 
ing; and  behind  the  volume  of  incense,  that,  night  and  day, 
streamed  upwards  from  the  altar,  dimly  was  seen  the  fiery  font, 
and  the  shadow  of  that  dreadful  being  who  should  have  baptized 
her  with  the  baptism  of  death.  But  by  her  side  was  kneeling  her 
better  angel,  that  hid  his  face  with  wings;  that  wept  and  pleaded 
for  her;  that  prayed  when  she  could  not;  that  fought  with  Heaven 


44  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

by  tears  for  her  deliverance;  which  also,  as  he  raised  his  immortal 
countenance  from  his  wings,  I  saw,  by  the  glory  of  his  eye,  that 
from  Heaven  he  had  won  at  last. 

Dost  thou  already  single  me?  I  thought  gyves  and  the  mill  had 
tamed  thee.  Oh  that  fortune  had  brought  me  to  the  field  where 
thou  art  famed  to  have  wrought  such  wonders  with  an  ass's  jaw! 
I  should  have  forced  thee  soon  wish  other  arms,  or  left  thy  carcass 
where  the  ass  lay  thrown;  so  had  the  glory  of  prowess  been  re- 
covered to  Palestine. 

And  when,  in  times  made  better  through  your  brave  decision 
now,  —  might  but  Utopia  be!  —  Rome  rife  with  honest  women 
and  strong  men,  manners  reformed,  old  habits  back  once  more, 
customs  that  recognize  the  standard  worth,  —  the  wholesome 
household  rule  in  force  again,  husbands  once  more  God's  repre- 
sentative, wives  like  the  typical  Spouse  once  more,  and  Priests 
no  longer  men  of  Belial,  with  no  aim  at  leading  silly  women  cap- 
tive, but  of  rising  to  such  duties  as  yours  now,  —  then  will  I  set 
my  son  at  my  right  hand  and  tell  his  father's  story  to  this  point.1 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  worth  observing  what  effect 
metrical  arrangement  has  upon  the  emotional  quality 
and  power  of  words  and  phrases.  Hardly  anyone 
would,  perhaps,  find  the  following  passages  strikingly 
melodious: 

Prince  Lucifer  uprose  on  a  starr'd  night.  The  fiend,  tired  of 
his  dark  dominion,  swung  above  the  rolling  ball,  part  screen'd 
in  cloud,  where  sinners  hugg'd  their  spectre  of  repose. 

Here  there  is  sweet  music  that  falls  softer  on  the  grass  than 
petals  from  blown  roses,  or  night-dews  on  still  waters  in  a  gleam- 

1  The  first  is  from  a  poem  in  free-verse,  Meditation,  by  Richard  Al- 
dington; the  second  is  blank  verse,  from  the  Small  Sweet  Idyl  in  Tenny- 
son's Princess;  the  third  is  from  Henley's  Margaritae  Sorori  (also  in 
free- verse);  the  fourth  is  from  DeQuincey's  English  Mail-Coach,  Dream 
Fugue  IV  (prose);  the  fifth  is  from  Milton's  Samson  Agonistes,  11.  1092  ff. 
(blank  verse);  the  sixth  is  from  Browning's  The  Ring  and  the  Book, 
Bk.  V  (blank  verse). 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  45 

ing  pass  between  walls  of  shadowy  granite;  music  that  lies 
gentlier  on  the  spirit  than  tired  eyelids  upon  tired  eyes. 

But  turn  these  words  back  to  their  original  metrical 
order,  and  it  is  almost  a  miracle  performed.  One  re- 
calls Coleridge's  definition  of  poetry  as  the  best  words 
in  the  best  places. 

On  a  starr'd  night  Prince  Lucifer  uprose. 
Tired  of  his  dark  dominion  swung  the  fiend 
Above  the  rolling  ball  in  cloud  part  screen'd, 

Where  sinners  hugg'd  their  spectre  of  repose. 

MEREDITH,  Lucifer  in  Starlight. 

There  is  sweet  music  here  that  softer  falls 
Than  petals  from  blown  roses  on  the  grass, 
Or  night-dews  on  still  waters  between  falls 
Of  shadowy  granite  in  a  gleaming  pass, 
Music  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies 
Than  tired  eyelids  upon  tired  eyes. 

TENNYSON,  Lotos  Eaters. 

It  should  now  be  clear  that  prose  and  verse  are  not  so 
antithetical  as  is  often  supposed;  that  they  are  only 
different  forms  of  the  same  substance,  language;  two 
branches  from  the  same  root.  At  certain  points  they 
overlap  and  are  practically  one;  at  other  points  the 
divergence  is  obvious  but  not  great;  and  even  in  their 
extreme  differences  the  common  basis  of  the  rhythms 
is  the  same.  In  both  prose  and  verse  are  the  same 
relations  of  time,  stress,  and  pitch,  except  that  in  verse 
the  arrangement  and  order  of  them  are  according  to 
a  perceptible  pattern.  Verse  is  but  prose  fitted  over  a 
framework  of  metre.  Herein  lies  the  whole  art  of  versi- 
fication, the  whole  psychology  of  poetic  rhythm,  the 
whole  problem  of  metrical  study  and  investigation. 


46  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

We  must  always  remember  that  "a  line  of  verse  is  a 
portion  of  speech-material  with  all  its  phonetic  features 
(corresponding  to  its  ethos  as  well  as  its  logos)  ad- 
justed, without  violence,  to  a  fixed  and  definite  metrical 
scheme.  The  two  entities,  metrical  scheme  and  portion 
of  speech-material  adjusted  thereto,  are  distinct  and 
the  chief  study  of  the  metricist  is  the  manner  of  adjust- 
ment of  the  latter  to  the  former,  the  way  in  which  a 
suitable  portion  of  phonetic  liquid  is  chosen  and  poured 
into  metrical  bottles."  :  Only  after  having  grasped 
what  can  be  grasped  of  the  subtleties  of  prose  rhythm, 
and  having  learned  the  common  forms  and  patterns  of 
metre,  can  we  put  the  two  together,  recognize  their 
new  unity,  perceive  the  new  rhythmic  beauties,  har- 
monies, modulations  that  spring  from  their  mutual 
adjustment. 

A  word  may  be  added  here,  though  the  subject  is  one 
rather  of  aesthetics  than  of  prosody,  on  the  function  of 
metre  in  emphasizing  and  reinforcing  the  beauties  of 
thought,  emotion,  and  expression  that  poetry  offers. 
Two  practical  illustrations  have  just  been  given  above. 
Every  writer  on  poetics,  from  Aristotle  down,  has  had 
something  to  contribute,  but  the  substance  of  it  all  may 
be  found  in  the  eighteenth  chapter  of  Coleridge's  Bio- 
graphia  Literaria,  from  which  a  few  sentences  have 
already  been  quoted.2  It  is  not  merely  that  verse  by 
its  external  appearance  notifies  the  reader,  or  by  its 

1  Thomas  Rudmose-Brown,  "  English  and  French  Metric,"  in  Modern 
Language  Review,  vol.  8  (1913),  p.  104. 

*  A  convenient  collection  of  extracts  from  various  writers  is  made  by 
Professor  R.  M.  Alden  in  Part  IV  of  his  English  Verse,  New  York, 
1903. 


PROSE  AND  VERSE  47 

perceptible  regularity  notifies  the  listener,  that  the 
writer  is  putting  forth  his  highest  efforts,  that  language 
is  being  driven  to  its  highest  possibilities;  it  is  not  that 
the  use  of  verse  signalizes  greater  aims  and  intentions 
than  the  use  of  prose;  but  rather  that  the  higher  efforts, 
the  greater  aims,  turn  by  a  natural,  spontaneous,  but 
partly  mysterious  instinct  to  metrical  forms  for  ade- 
quate or  fit  expression.  The  poets  themselves  have 
proved  this.  No  one,  barring  a  few  notable  excep- 
tions, who  felt  the  creative  powers  of  poetry  within 
him  has  dared  neglect  or  refuse  the  added  difficulties 
and  the  potential  beauties  of  metre.  Not  the  sense 
of  obstacles  overcome,  but  of  possibilities  realized 
prompts  to  formal  rhythms.  Music,  in  Dryden's 
phrase,  is  inarticulate  poetry;  but  poetry,  while  it  re- 
mains articulate  and  endeavors  to  accomplish  its  own 
destinies,  will  always  approach  as  close  as  its  own  con- 
ditions permit  to  the  powers  of  music.  Some  poets  are 
inclined  more  powerfully  to  music  than  others.  Burns 
composed  with  definite  melodies  in  mind;  Shelley  often 
began  with  a  little  tune  which  he  gradually  crystallized 
into  words;  Schiller  tells  us  that  inspiration  often  came 
to  him  first  in  the  form  of  music.  Tennyson,  Swin- 
burne, and  others,  have  chanted  rather  than  read  their 
poetry  aloud.  And  even  Browning,  who  sometimes  ap- 
pears to  prefer  discord  to  music,  is  found  to  have 
studied  not  only  the  science  of  music,  but  also  the 
musical  effectiveness  of  words. 

While  it  is  unquestionably  going  too  far  to  insist  as 
Hegel  does  that  "metre  is  the  first  and  only  condition 
absolutely  demanded  by  poetry,  yea  even  more  neces- 


48  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

sary  than  a  figurative  picturesque  diction";  or  even  to 
say  that  the  finest  poetry  is  always  metrical;  still  it  re- 
mains a  simple  fundamental  truth  that  metre  is  the 
natural  form  of  poetic  language.  The  great  exceptions 
to  this  —  the  poetic  prose  of  a  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  a 
Pater,  a  Carlyle,  or  the  free- verse  of  Whitman  —  do 
but  prove  its  soundness;  for  we  always  feel  them  to  be 
something  exceptional,  something  not  quite  natural 
though  not  quite  amiss,  something  wonderful,  like 
tours  de  force.  We  would  not  wish  them  otherwise, 
perhaps;  but  we  should  doubt  them  if  we  did  not 
actually  have  them  before  us. 


CHAPTER  III 

METRE 

ELEMENTS  OF  VERSE  RHYTHM.  The  simplest 
metrical  unit  is  the  syllable;  the  next  higher  unit 
is  the  foot,  a  group  of  syllables;  the  next  higher  unit 
the  line,  a  group  of  feet;  then  the  stanza  or  strophe. 

In  some  prosodies  —  as  the  French  and  Italian,  for 
example  —  the  standard  unit  of  verse  is  the  syllable. 
The  first  essential  of  a  line  is  that  it  have  a  certain 
number  of  syllables;  the  accents  or  stresses  may,  the- 
oretically at  least,  fall  anywhere  in  the  line.  In  Eng- 
lish verse  also  the  syllable  has  sometimes  been  regarded 
as  the  unit,  but  for  the  most  part  only  by  a  few  poets 
and  prosodists  of  the  late  sixteenth,  the  seventeenth, 
and  eighteenth  centuries. 

The  foot  corresponds  in  English  verse  to  what  has 
been  described  in  Chapter  I  as  the  rhythmic  unit  of  all 
rhythms,  namely  that  which  recurs  in  regular  sequence. 
It  comprises,  therefore,  a  point  of  emphasis  and  all 
that  occupies  the  time-distance  between  that  point  of 
emphasis  and  the  following  one.  In  other  words,  a  foot 
is  a  section  of  speech-rhythm  containing  a  stressed  ele- 
ment and  an  unstressed  element,  usually  one  or  two 
unaccented  syllables.  So  much  is  clear  and  undisputed 
in  theory.  But  there  are  few  single  topics  on  which 
writers  on  English  prosody  are  so  much  at  variance  as 

40 


50  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

on  the  further,  more  accurate  definition  of  the  foot. 
One  of  the  main  sources  of  difficulty,  however,  is 
easily  removed.  The  metrical  foot  is  not  a  natural  divi- 
sion of  language,  like  the  word  or  the  phrase,  but  an 
arbitrary  division,  like  the  bar  in  music,  an  abstraction 
having  no  existence  independent  of  the  larger  rhythm 
of  which  it  is  a  part.  The  analogy  between  the  metrical 
foot  and  the  musical  bar  is  very  close:  they  are  both 
artificial  sections  of  rhythm  which  either  in  whole  or  in 
part  may  be  grouped  into  such  phrases  as  the  ideas  or 
melodies  may  require.1  They  may  be  isolated  and 
treated  by  themselves  only  for  the  purposes  of  analy- 
sis, for  they  are  merely  theoretical  entities,  like  the 
chemical  elements.  There  is  no  reason,  therefore,  that 
the  foot  should  correspond  with  word  divisions,  no 
objection  to  the  falling  of  different  syllables  of  one 
word  into  different  feet.  Thus  in  Gray's  line 

The  rur  |  few  tolls  |  the  knell  |  of  part  |  ing  day 

both  curfew  and  parting  are  divided.2  Further,  the 
division  between  clauses  may  fall  in  the  middle  of  a 
foot,  as  in  Wordsworth's  lines 

The  world  |  is  too  |  much  with  |  us;  late  |  and  soon 
Getting  and  spending  we  lay  waste  our  powers. 

1  The  chief  difference  perhaps  between  the  foot  and  the  bar  is  that  the 
latter  always  begins  with  a  rhythmic  stress,  whereas  the  foot  may  begin 
with  an  unstressed  element. 

2  Some  metrists,  holding  that  every  foot  should  begin  with  a  stress, 
divide  thus: 

The  |  curfew  |  tolls  the  |  knell  of  |  parting  |  day. 

Such  a  division  can  be  justified  on  several  grounds,  but  it  remains  awk- 
ward and  obscures  the  plain  fact  of  rising  rhythm.  It  does  not  affect  the 
division  of  word  and  foot;  for  compare  Shelley's  line: 

Ne  |  cessi  |  ty!  thou  |  mother  |  of  the  |  world. 


METRE  51 

But  another  difficulty  remains,  which  is  apparent  in 
the  second  line  just  quoted  from  Wordsworth.  The 
general  rhythm  of  the  whole  sonnet  of  which  these  two 
lines  are  the  beginning  is  plainly  duple  rising,  or 
iambic.  The  first  line  and  the  latter  part  of  the  second 
are  easily  divisible  into  iambs;  but  how  shall  Getting  and 
spend-  be  divided  ?  Clearly  and  spend-  is  an  iamb,  but 
Getting  is  not.  Can  trochees  and  iambs  occur  together 
in  the  same  line  without  either  obscuring  or  actually 
destroying  the  rhythm  ?  The  simpler  solution  would  be 
to  keep  the  whole  line  in  rising  rhythm  by  regarding 
-ing  and  spend-  as  the  second  foot  and  A  Gett-  as  the 
first.  (The  sign  A  indicates  a  missing  syllable  or  musi- 
cal rest.  See  below,  page  63.) 

The  most  common  feet  are  the  iamb,  the  trochee,  the 
anapest,  and  the  dactyl  (see  above,  page  38),  to  which 
may  be  added  the  spondee.  The  names  are  borrowed, 
not  quite  felicitously,  from  classical  prosody.  Various 
symbols  are  in  use: 

FOOT  SYMBOLS  EXAMPLES 

iamb  w  -L         X  '  xa  alone,  despair,  to  walk, 

trochee  _L  w          'X  ax  study,  backward,  talk  to. 

anapest  w  w  _L  XX7  xxa  interdict,  to  permit, 

dactyl  _L  w  v^  'XX  axx  tenderly,  after  the. 

spondee  _L  _L          '  '  aa  stone  deaf,  broad-browed. 

Classical  prosody  distinguished  several  other  feet, 
some  of  which  are  occasionally  mentioned  in  treatises 
on  English  verse:  amphibrach  ^  _  w,  tribrach  w  w  w, 

pyrrhic  ^  w,  paeon  _  ^  w  w,  choriamb  _  w  w 

The  objection  to  the  use  of  these  classical  terms  is  not 
so  serious  as  is  frequently  supposed.  Since  Greek  and 


52  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Latin  prosody  was  primarily  quantitative,  that  is, 
based  upon  syllabic  length,  and  every  long  syllable  was 
theoretically  equal  to  two  short  syllables,  an  iamb  or 
w  —  had  the  musical  value  of  J^  J ,  a  trochee  of  J  J",  a 
dactyl  of  J  //,  etc.  And  since  no  such  definite  musical 
valuation  can  be  given  to  English  feet,  a  Greek  iamb 
and  an  English  iamb  are  obviously  different.  But  after 
all  there  was  inevitably  an  element  of  stress  in  the 
classical  feet,  and  there  is  a  very  positive  element  of 
time  in  the  English,  so  that  the  difference  is  not  so 
great,  and  no  confusion  need  result  once  the  facts  are 
recognized.  Another  set  of  terms,  however,  borrowed 
from  the  Greek  and  Latin  is  open  to  more  grave 
objection,  for  no  real  equivalence  exists  between  the 
classical  and  the  modern  phenomena.  The  iambic 
trimeter  in  Greek  consists  of  three  dipodies  or  six  iambs; 
as  used  by  English  prosodists  it  consists  of  three  iambs. 
The  Greek  trochaic  tetrameter,  similarly,  contains  eight 
trochees,  the  English  '  trochaic  tetrameter '  but  four. 
The  common  term  iambic  pentameter  is  not  so  objec- 
tionable, but  is  to  be  rejected  because  of  its  similarity 
to  the  others,  which  are  actually  confusing. 

The  next  larger  metrical  unit  after  the  foot  is  the 
line  or  verse.  It  is  distinguished  (i)  mechanically  by 
the  custom  of  printing,  (2)  phonetically  by  the  pause 
usual  at  the  end,  and  (3)  structurally  by  its  use  as  a 
unit  in  forming  the  stanza.  Lines  are  of  one,  two,  three, 
or  more  feet,  according  to  the  metrical  form  used  by 
the  poet  (see  Chapter  IV).  In  rimed  verse  the  end  of 
the  line  is  so  emphasized  that  the  line  itself  stands  out 
as  a  very  perceptible  rhythmic  unit;  in  unrimed  verse, 


METRE  53 

however,  the  line  is  frequently  not  felt  as  a  unit  at  all, 
but  is  so  interwoven  with  the  natural  prose  rhythm  of 
the  word  s  as  to  be  almost  indistinguishable  to  the  ear, 
though  of  course  visible  to  the  eye  on  the  printed  page. 
This  fact  is  easily  apparent  in  reading  the  second,  fifth, 
and  sixth  illustrative  selections  on-  pages  43,  44. 

The  stanza  or  strophe  is  a  combination  of  two  or  more 
lines  of  the  same  or  varying  lengths,  according  to  a 
regular  pattern  chosen  by  the  poet.  '  Irregular  '  stan- 
zas sometimes  occur,  in  which  the  thought  rhythm  is 
said  to  control  and  determine  the  stanzaic  rhythm; 
that  is,  the  length  of  line  and  position  of  rimes  are  regu- 
lated by  the  logical  and  emotional  content  of  the  words. 
On  the  various  kinds  of  stanzaic  structure,  see  pages 
88  ff.,  below. 

Metrical  Patterns.  It  must  be  fully  understood  that 
these  metrical  patterns  of  line  and  stanza  are  purely 
formal.  They  are  the  bottles  into  which  the  poet 
pours  his  liquid  meaning,  or  better,  the  sketched-in 
squares  over  which  the  painter,  copying  from  an  old 
masterpiece,  draws  and  paints  his  figures.  They  have 
no  literal  or  concrete  existence.  They  are  no  more  the 
music  of  verse  than 


is  the  music  of  a  waltz.  They  are  absolutely  fixed  and 
predetermined  (though  the  poet  may  invent  new  pat- 
terns if  he  chooses).  But  he  uses  them  only  as  forms  on 
which  he  arranges  his  words  and  phrases.  For  the 
rhythm  of  language  is  extremely  soft  and  malleable: 


54  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

by  skilful  handling  it  can  be  moulded  into  an  infinite 
variety  of  shapes.  Perhaps  the  comparison  of  a  stanza 
by  John  Donne  with  a  stanza  by  W.  B.  Yeats,  both 
based  on  the  same  metrical  scheme,  will  help  to  make 
this  clear.  The  formal  scheme  is 

w        w    '    w    '    w    '    \j    ' 

Death,  be  not  proud,  though  some  have  called  thee 
Mighty  and  dreadful,  for  thou  art  not  so: 
For  those  whom  thou  think'st  thou  dost  overthrow 
Die  not,  poor  Death;  nor  yet  canst  thou  kill  me. 

JOHN  DONNE,  Death. 

When  you  are  old  and  gray  and  full  of  sleep 
And  nodding  by  the  fire,  take  down  this  book, 
And  slowly  read,  and  dream  of  the  soft  look 
Your  eyes  had  once,  and  of  their  shadows  deep. 

W.  B.  YEATS,  When  You  are  Old. 

Even  more  striking  is  the  difference  of  rhythmical 
effect  observable  in  reading,  one  after  the  other,  a  page 
of  Pope's  heroic  couplets  in  the  Essay  on  Man,  of 
Keats's  same  couplets  in  Endymion,  and  Browning's 
same  couplets  in  My  Last  Duchess. 

While  the  formal  pattern  remains  fixed  and  in- 
flexible, over  its  surface  may  be  embroidered  variations 
of  almost  illimitable  subtlety  and  change;  but  a/ways 
the  formal  pattern  must  be  visible ,  audible.  The  poet's 
skill  lies  largely  in  preserving  a  balance  of  the  artistic 
principles  of  variety  in  uniformity  and  uniformity  in 
variety.  Once  he  lets  go  the  design,  he  loses  his  met- 
rical rhythm  and  writes  mere  prose.  Once  we  cease  to 
hear  and  feel  the  faint  regular  beating  of  the  met- 
ronome we  fail  to  get  the  enjoyment  of  sound  that  it  is 
the  proper  function  of  metre  to  give.  On  the  other 


METRE  55 

hand,  if  the  mechanical  design  stands  out  too  plainly, 
if  the  beat  of  the  metronome  becomes  for  an  instant 
more  prominent  than  the  music  of  the  words,  then 
also  the  artistic  pleasure  is  gone,  for  too  much  uni- 
formity is  as  deadly  to  art  as  too  much  variety. 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

These  verses  are  regular  (as  is  appropriate  for  the 
theme),  and  vary  comparatively  little  from  the  formal 
metrical  pattern.  The  coincidence  of  prose  rhythm 
and  metrical  rhythm  is  almost  complete.  Yet  by 
means  of  small  subtleties  of  variation  in  pause,  word 
order,  long  and  short  syllables,  Gray  always  saves  the 
poem  from  monotony.  How  far  the  variations  may  be 
carried,  how  much  the  ear  may  be  depended  upon  for 
rhythmic  substitution  and  syncopation,  is  determined 
by  many  things.  Certain  lines  are  unmistakably  met- 
rical to  all  ears  and  in  all  positions  —  such  as  these 
verses  of  Gray's  Elegy.  Certain  lines  are  generally  felt 
to  contain  daring  variations  and  yet  be  successful  and 
effective  —  such  as 

The  blue  Mediterranean,  where  he  lay. 

SHELLEY,  Ode  to  the  West  Wind. 

Myriads  of  rivulets  hurrying  thro'  the  lawn. 

TENNYSON,  Small  Sweet  Idyl,  in  The  Princess. 

Other  lines  stretch  our  metrical  sense  to  the  breaking 
point,  and  according  to  individual  taste  we  judge  them 
bold  or  too  bold  —  such  as  Tennyson's 


56  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Take  your  own  time,  Annie,  take  your  own  time. 

Enoch  Arden. 
or  Milton's 

Burnt  after  them  to  the  bottomless  pit. 

Paradise  Lost,  VI,  866. 

In  all  of  these  examples  the  metrical  pattern  is  the 
same:  five  consecutive  iambs.  The  modifications  il- 
lustrate plainly  the  extraordinary  flexibility  of  lan- 
guage. 

Time  and  Stress.  Probably  the  most  disputed  point 
in  all  prosodic  theory  is  the  relative  importance  of 
time  (duration,  syllabic  length)  and  stress  (accent)  in 
English  verse.  Some  writers  have  attempted  to  explain 
all  the  phenomena  entirely  by  stress;  others  entirely  by 
time.  Neither  side,  of  course,  has  been  very  success- 
ful.1 The  difficulty  is  partly  one  of  theory  and  partly 
one  of  correct  analysis  of  the  facts.  Thanks,  now,  to 
the  attention  paid  in  recent  decades  by  the  experi- 
mental psychologists  to  rhythm  and  metre,  we  are  in  a 
position  to  reach  at  least  approximate  clearness  on  this 
vexed  point.  Since  the  older  theorists  have  mostly 
started  either  from  the  traditional  conceptions  of 
classical  prosody  or  from  examination  of  but  a  part  of 
the  phenomena,  their  work  may  be  left  out  of  account 
here.  Certainly  no  great  blame  attaches  to  them; 
they  are  the  Bacons  and  Harveys  and  Newtons  of  met- 
rical science.  A  more  nearly  correct  analysis  of  the 
facts  is  possible  now  because  with  the  minutely  ac- 

1  An  historical  survey  of  the  problems  and  theories,  somewhat  colored 
by  the  author's  own  theory,  may  be  found  in  English  Metrists,  Oxford , 
1921,  by  T.  S.  Omond. 


METRE  57 

curate  instruments  of  the  scientists  to  aid  us  we  need 
no  longer  trust  to  the  uncertainties  of  perception  and 
statement  of  separate  individuals.  Of  course  no  one 
today  holds  the  extreme  belief  that  science  explains 
everything;  and  of  course  the  scientific  experiments  on 
the  nature  and  effect  of  rhythm  must  have  a  starting 
point  in  the  personal  equations  of  those  who  have  sub- 
mitted themselves  to  the  scientific  tests.  With  all  its 
patience  and  thoroughness  of  investigation,  experi- 
mental psychology  is  only  now  establishing  itself.  But 
it  does  offer,  on  this  one  mooted  point  of  versification, 
invaluable  help. 

The  theory  presented  in  the  previous  pages  states 
that  sound  rhythm  consists  of  a  succession  of  points  of 
emphasis  separated  by  equal  time  divisions.  This  is 
the  ideal  rhythm.  When  subjected  to  the  conditions  of 
metrical  language  it  suffers  two  alterations.  In  the 
first  place,  our  notions  of  time  are  extremely  untrust- 
worthy. Days  vanish  in  a  moment  and  they  drag  like 
years.  Very  few  of  us  can  estimate  correctly  the  pas- 
sage of  five  minutes:  syllables  are  uttered  in  a  few 
hundredths  of  a  second.  We  are  satisfied  with  the  ac- 
curacy shown  by  an  orchestra  in  keeping  time;  but  if 
we  took  a  metronome  to  the  concert  we  should  find  the 
orchestra  very  deficient  in  its  sense  of  time.  The  fact  is 
that  the  orchestra  knows  better  than  the  metronome, 
that  perfectly  accurate  time  intervals  become  un- 
pleasantly monotonous,  that  we  rebel  at  *  mechanical ' 
music.  Thus  the  time  divisions  of  pleasurable  rhythm 
are  not  mathematically  equal,  nor  even  necessarily 
approximately  equal,  but  are  such  as  are/>//  to  be  equal. 


58  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

The  second  alteration  of  ideal  rhythm  is  that  which 
results  from  the  conformity  of  fluid  language  to  its 
metrical  mould.  This  metrical  scheme,  based  the- 
oretically on  equal  time  units  marked  by  equal  stresses, 
becomes  a  compromise  of  uneven  stresses  and  ap- 
parently equal  time  divisions. 

Almost  every  line  of  verse  is  a  proof  of  this:  both  the 
fact  and  the  explanation  are  clear  when  approached 
from  the  right  angle,  and  may  be  tested  by  carefully 
prepared  statistics.  In  the  following  examples  the 
figures  beneath  each  syllable  give  the  time  of  utter- 
ance in  tenths  and  one-hundred ths  of  a  second;  the 
figures  in  parentheses  represent  pauses.1  The  first, 
from  Paradise  Lost,  II,  604-614,  is  in  blank  verse, 
with  five  iambic  feet  to  a  line;  the  second,  from  Shel- 
ley's The  Cloud,  is  apparently  irregular,  but  the  basis 
is  clearly  anapestic.  The  ideal  rhythm  or  metrical 
pattern  of  the  first  is 


regularly  repeated.  The  ideal  rhythm  of  the  second  is 

^w_Lww_/-ww_Lww_L 
/  /  (         i  \ 

six  times  repeated.2 

1  I  take  these  figures  from  the  two  articles  by  Professor  Ada  L.  F.  Snell 
in  the  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Association  for  September, 
1918,  pp.  396-408,  and  September,  1919,  pp.  416-435.    For  the  first  ex- 
ample I  have  made  an  average  from  the  records  of  three  different  readers; 
for  the  second  Miss  Snell  gives  only  one  set  of  figures. 

2  The  second  and  fourth  lines  have  two  feet  each,  the  alternate  lines 
throughout  the  rest  of  the  poem  have  three  feet  each;  but  it  is  noteworthy 
that  the  average  length  of  these  two  short  lines  (1.61)  is  only  .37  less  than 
the  average  of  the  four  longer  lines  (1.98).  The  first,  third,  fifth,  etc.,  lines 
have  four  feet  each. 


METRE  59 

They  fer  -  ry  o  -  ver  this  Le  -  the  -  an  sound 
.29     .36    .15.24     .13     .26    .23     .23    .23     .62     (.18) 

Both  to  and  fro,      their  sor-rpw  to  aug-ment, 
.41    .27     .2     .63  (.36)  .26       .4    .16    .24  .32    .43    (.6) 

And  wish  and  strug-gle,       as  they  pass,      to  reach 
.2      .47      .25     .33     .25  (.13)  .21    .21      .57  (.4)  .24     .35 

The  tempt-ing  stream,    with  one  small  drop       to  lose 
.14      .32       .3        .69  (.44)  .24     .37     .53       .47  (.09)  .21    .47 

In  sweet  for  -  get  -  ful  -  ness      all  pain  and  woe, 
.2     .37      .19     .28     .17     .25  (.1)  .39     .53     .17     .52  (.59) 

All  in  one  mo  -  ment     and  so  near  the  brink; 
.42    .2    .21    .34       .3  (.47)  .27  .28    .37      .11      .57  (.49) 

But  Fate  with  -  stands,    and,  to  op  -  pose  the  attempt 
.23      .39      .28        .66    (.49)  .22      .18    .11       .48      .23      .52    (.33) 

Me  -  du  -  sa  with  Gor  -  go  -  nian  ter  -  ror  guards 
.15     .33    .15     .21      .3      .3      .23     .28     .21      .51 

The  ford,     and    of  it  -  self  the  wa  -  ter  flies 
.14      .6  (.3)  .27      .2  .2     .48    .13    .25     .22    .64 

All  taste  of  liv  -  ing  wight,    as  once  it  fled 
.26     .48    .16  .19     .18      .43  (.5)  .29    .39    .16   .43 

The  lip  of  Tan  -  ta  -  lus. 
.1      .32  .14    .33     .15     .3 


I  bring  fresh  showers    for  the  thirst  -  ing  flowers, 
.25    .35       .15         .8  (.15)    .15    .15       .3         .2        .6    (.2) 

From  the  seas  and  the  streams; 
.2        .18    .42     .15     .15       .62      (.75) 

I  bear  light  shade  for  the  leaves  when  laid 
.2     .35     .3         .5       .18    .18      .34          .4      .45 

In  their  noon  -  day  dreams. 

.18      .2       .22         .2         .7    (.6) 
From  my  wings  are  shak  -  en  the  dews  that  wak  -  en 

.25  .35         .44          .22         .3  .2         .1  .6  .2  .25         .25 

The  sweet  buds        ev  -  ery  one, 

•i        -35        -53  (-15)   -2     -21      -5    (-55) 
When  rocked  to  rest      on  their  moth  -  er's  breast, 

.18  .47  .2         .4    (.2)    .18         .2  .22  .18  .47       (.4) 

As  she  danc  -  es  a  -  bout  the  sun. 

.2         .2          .45          .2     .1         .25          .2          .5       (.85) 

I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lash  -  ing  hail, 

.22        .22         .1  .<        .1?     .15        .25         .15         .45      (.3) 


60  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

And  whit  -  en  the  green  plains  un  -  der, 
.a      .22      .18    .1       .32        .5        .2      .2    (.5) 

And  then  a  -  gain  I  dis  -  solve  in  rain, 
.22     .38     -i      -55    -'5  .2        .?     -15     -55    0°7) 

And  laugh    as  I  pass  in  thun  -  der. 
.2       .4  (.2)  .15  .18  .39    .18    .22      .25 

Two  facts  emerge  from  these  statistics  at  once:  (i) 
that  in  about  90  per  cent  of  the  feet  the  ^  or  unstressed 
element  is  shorter  than  the  jL  or  stressed  element,  or,  in 
other  words,  stress  and  syllabic  length  nearly  always 
coincide;  and  (2)  that  while  there  is  very  great  varia- 
tion in  the  absolute  lengths  of  short  syllables  and  long 
syllables,  the  proportion  of  average  lengths  is  about 
2:4.*  One  need  not  suppose  that  the  conscious  mind 
always  hears  or  thinks  it  hears  -the  syllables  pro- 
nounced with  these  quantitative  proportions.  Though 
we  deceive  ourselves  very  readily  in  the  matter  of  time, 
it  is  not  true  that  we  have  no  sense  of  duration  what- 
ever. Quite  the  contrary.  Our  cerebral  metronome  is 
set  when  we  read  verse  for  about  .6  seconds  for  a  foot 
(.2  seconds  for  the  unstressed  element;  .4  seconds  for 
the  stressed  element).  If  we  read  faster  or  more  slowly 
the  proportions  remain  the  same.  When,  however,  in 
Paradise  Lost,  II,  607, 

y      -L        w        ± 

with  one  small  drop 

.24    .37     .53      .47 

1  This  statement  is  based  on  Miss  Snell's  computations  from  analysis 
of  several  records  for  blank  verse  and  several  kinds  of  lyric  verse.  The 
short  syllables  range  in  blank  verse  from  .02  to  .54,  in  lyrics  from  .09  to  .7; 
the  long  syllables  range  in  blank  verse  from  .08  to  .84,  in  lyrics  from  .1 1  to 
.92.  The  average  length  of  all  long  syllables  is  .4,  of  all  short  syllables  is 
.21. 


METRE  61 

the  normal  proportions  are  so  patently  departed  from 
that  the  theoretically  unstressed  syllable  small  is  ac- 
tually longer  than  the  theoretically  stressed  syllable 
drop,  and  the  foot  small  drop  takes  i.  second,  or  | 
longer  than  the  average  foot  beside  it  (with  one,  .61 
seconds)  —  when  divergences  so  great  as  this  are  both 
possible  and  pleasurable,  the  conclusion  should  be,  not 
that  the  ear  makes  no  recognition  of  the  time,  but  that 
it  is  capable,  by  syncopation  and  substitution,  of  ad- 
justing itself  to  a  very  great  possibility  of  variation 
without  losing  hold  of  the  rhythmic  pattern.  Looked 
at  from  one  point  of  view,  the  extreme  variations  would 
appear  to  be  irregularities  and  warrant  the  judgment 
that  no  element  of  duration  exists  as  a  principle  of 
English  verse;  but  from  the  right  point  of  view  these 
variations  mean  only  that  the  metrical  time  unit  is  ex- 
traordinarily elastic  while  still  remaining  a  unit;  that 
the  ear  is  willing  and  able  to  pay  very  high  for  the 
variety  in  uniformity  which  it  requires. 

Pause.  The  time  element  of  English  verse  is  affected 
also  by  different  kinds  of  pauses.  Three  kinds  may  be 
distinguished,  two  of  which  belong  properly  to  prose 
rhythm  as  well,  (i)  The  logical^  pause  is  that  cessation 
of  sound  which  separates  the  logical  components  of 
speech.  It  helps  hold  together  the  members  of  a  unit 
a"nrt~separates  the  units  from  each  other,  and  never  oc- 
curs unless  a  break  in  the  meaning  is  possible.  It  is 
usually  indicated  in  printed  language  by  punctuation. 
(2)  The  rhythmical  pause  separates  the  breath  groups  of 
a  sentence  and  therefore  concerns  language  chiefly  as  a 


62  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

series  of  sounds  independent  for  the  most  part  of  logical 
content  or  symbolism.  Though  its  origin  is  primarily 
physiological,  it  soon  induces  a  psychological  state  and 
results  in  an  overuse  or  overdevelopment  of  the  cere- 
bral metronome.  Both  readers  and  writers  get  into  a 
certain  *  swing '  which  turns  to  monotony  and  sing- 
song in  reading  and  to  excessive  uniformity  of  sentence 
length  and  structure  in  writing  —  what  is  called  a  jog- 
trot style.  This  pause  as  it  affects  the  reading  of  verse 
is  only  slightly  dependent  upon  the  logical  content  of 
words,  for  it  takes  its  pace,  especially  in  rimed  verse, 
from  the  normal  line  length,  and  tends  to  make  every 
line  sound  like  every  other,  regardless  of  the  meaning. 
(3)  Metrical  pause  is  primarily  independent  of  the 
other  two,  but  most  frequently  tails  in  with  them.  It 
belongs  to  the  formal  metrical  pattern,  and  serves 
usually  to  mark  off  the  line  units.  There  is  thus  the- 
oretically a  pause  at  the  end  of  every  line,  and  a  greater 
pause  at  the  end  of  every  stanza.  When  verses  are 
'  run  on,'  i.  e.,  when  there  is  no  logical  pause  at  the  end, 
many  readers  omit  the  metrical  pause  or  reduce  it  to  a 
minimum.  Others,  whose  rhythmic  sense  is  very  keen, 
preserve  it,  making  it  very  slight  but  still  perceptible. 
The  metrical  pause  is  greatly  emphasized  by  rime. 

There  are  two  other  time  elements  in  English  verse, 
related  in  different  ways  to  each  of  these  three  pauses, 
one  which  is  nearly  equivalent  to  the  musical  rest;  the 
other  which  is  nearly  equivalent  to  the  musical  hold. 
The  latter  is  common  to  both  verse  and  prose,  and  is 
emotional  or  elocutionary  in  origin;  "If  .  .  .  ," 
"Well  —  ?"  "  'These  roses? '  she  drawled."  In  verse 


METRE  63 

it  often  coincides  with  and  supports  a  metrical  pause, 
especially  on  rime  words.  Many  readers  in  fact  com- 
bine the  hold  and  the  metrical  pause  or  use  them  inter- 
changeably. The  former,  the  rest,  is  a  pause  used  to 
take  the  place  of  an  unstressed  element.  As  such,  how- 
ever, it  does  not  altogether  compensate  the  break  in  the 
normal  time-space,  but  fills  in  the  omission  sufficiently 
to  preserve  the  rhythm  of  the  verse. 

These  various  pauses   are   all  well   illustrated  in 
Tennyson's  lyric,  Break,  Break,  Break. 

Break,    break,    break, 
.5    (.6)      .5    (.28)    .6    (.3) 

On  thy  cold  grey  stones,    O    sea! 

•35      -3       -6        .5         .7  (.15)  .3      .55    (.65) 

And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  ut  -  ter 
.2    .2      .4        .2     .25      ,4  .18     .18     .3    (.35) 

The  thoughts  that  a  -  rise  in  me. 
2.        .5  -3     -2     .4     .3    .5    (.8) 

O,  well  for  the  fish  -  er  -  man's  boy 

.6      .6      .2      .2      .22     .15       .45        .6    (.55) 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sis  -  ter  at  play! 

.2        .18  .55  .25         .2      .35        .18      .2         .6      (.9) 

O,      well  for  the  sail  -  or  lad 

.5  (.3)  .61     .25     .3     .55     .2    .5    (.45) 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay. 
.18    .18    .55     .25    .2     .45    .15    .15     .6 

Logical  pauses  occur  at  the  end  of  11.  2,  4,  6,  8;  and 
probably  after  stones  in  1.  2.  After  stones  there  would  be 
also  a  rhythmic  pause,  but  it  is  reinforced  and  prac- 
tically replaced  by  the  logical  pause.  Another  rhyth- 
mic pause  might  occur  after  tongue  in  1.  3,  but  it  is 
absorbed  partly  by  the  length  of  tongue  and  partly  by 
the  necessity  of  preserving  the  line  rhythm  through 
utter.  It  will  be  felt,  however,  if  the  lines  are  read  thus: 


64  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

And  I  would  that  my  tongue 
Could  utter  the  thoughts 

That  arise 

In  me. 

The  metrical  pause  appears  clearly  after  utter  in  1.  3. 
The  pauses  after  boy  (1.  5)  and  lad  (1.  7)  are  both  met- 
rical and  logical.  The  hold  is  illustrated  by  0  in  1.  5 
and  1.  y.1  The  rest  appears  distinctly  in  1.  i.  From 
reading  the  whole  poem  we  know  that  the  movement  is 
anapestic.  The  pattern  rhythm  for  the  first  line  would 
be 

\j  \j  —    w  w  _L    \j  \j  J- 
Break        break        break 

The  number  of  syllables  is  three,  whereas  the  other 
lines  have  from  seven  to  nine  syllables  each.  That  is, 
before  each  break  two  light  syllables,  or  their  time 
equivalent,  are  lacking,  their  place  being  supplied  by 
the  rest-pause  (which  is  also  logical  and  emotional).2 
The  reader  may  analyze  the  comparative  lengths  of 
foot,  line,  pause,  and  rest  in  the  following  record : 3 

1  In  the  latter  case  it  is  supplemented  by  a  pause  in  Miss  Snell's  mark- 
ing.  Many  readers  would  no  doubt  combine  the  hold  and  pause;  as  was 
done  in  fact  in  1.  5. 

2  It  should  be  noted  that  the  average  line  length  here  (including  pauses 
within  the  line,  excluding  those  at  the  end  of  the  line)  is  2.8,  and  the  first 
line  is  therefore  only  .32  shorter  than  the  average.  If  additional  allowance 
(omitted  in  Miss  Snell's  computation)  be  made  for  the  theoretical  initial 
v_/  w  the  average  would  be  2.85  and  1.  i  would  total  2.92.  If  the  end  pause 
is  included  the  average  would  be  3.38  and  1. 1  2.78  —  a  difference  of  .66; 
or  with  the  additional  allowance  the  average  would  be  3.44  and  1.  i  3.22. 
While  too  much  faith  is  not  to  be  placed  in  the  mere  figures,  the  inference 
is  plain  that  the  rests  practically  compensate  here  for  the  omitted  w  w. 

3  Miss  Snell,  Pause;  a  Study  of  its  Nature  and  its  Rhythmical  Func- 
tion in  Verse  (Ann  Arbor,  1918),  pp.  78,  79. 


METRE  65 

Kent  -  ish  Sir  Bing    stood  for  the  king, 
.4       .32    .46      .8  (.2)    .5       .18    .16     .8    (.6) 

Bid  -  ding  the  crop  -  head  -  ed  par  -  lia  -  ment  swing; 
.26        .2     .12     .45         .3        .2     .4     .1       .35       .72    (.6) 

And,  press  -  ing  a  troop      un  -  ab  -  le  to  stoop, 

.2  .38          .12    .1          .55    (.2)     .18      .26      .12     .2         .58       (.5) 

And  see  the  rogues  flour  -  ish      and  hon-  est  folk  droop; 

.22        .35      .If  .5  .6  .2    (.2)    .26        .45        .18        .35         .48       (.75) 

Marched  then  a  -  long        fif  -  ty  -  score  strong 

.52  .22      .12         .8    (.I4)    .35      .25  .5  .7         (.7) 

Great-heart  -  ed  gent  -  le  -  men,    sing  -  ing  this  song. 
.35        -3          .2     -3       .12      -3  (-45)  -44      -25      -28      .68      (.9) 

God  for  King  Charles!    Pym  and  such  carles 
.6     .46     .5          .8    (.5)      .38      .26     .3         .85      (.42) 

To  the  Dev-il  that  prompts  them  their  treas-on-ous  paries! 
.18   .18    .35   .25   .42        .5          .38       .2       .38     .1      .32    .75  (.55) 

Cav  -  a  -  Hers,  up!    Lips  from  the  cup. 
•35    -'S      -5  (-4)  -5  (-4)  -6         .3      .12      .4 

Pitch.  Pitch  appears  to  be  sometimes  a  determining 
element  in  rhythm,  as  has  been  shown  above;  but  since 
its  chief  function  in  verse  is  that  of  supporting  the 
recognized  determinants  and  adding  grace-notes  to  the 
music,  it  is  omitted  here  and  discussed  in  Chapter  V, 
below. 

Balance  of  Forces.  It  is  not  to  be  inferred  from  the 
foregoing  sections  that  the  basis  of  English  metre  is 
time.  For  the  basis  of  English  metre  is  dual :  time  and 
stress  are  inextricable.  Beneath  all  metrical  language 
runs  the  invisible  current  of  time,  but  the  surface  is 
marked  by  stress.  The  warp  of  the  metrical  fabric  is 
time;  stress  is  the  woof.  And  from  the  surface,  of 
course,  only  the  woof  is  visible.  Moreover,  the  poet's 
point  of  view  in  composing  and  generally  the  reader's 


66  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

point  of  view  in  reading  has  always  been  that  of  the 
'  stresser.'  No  poet  ever  wrote  to  a  metronome  ac- 
companiment; extremely  few  readers  are  fully  con- 
scious —  few  can  be,  from  the  nature  of  our  human 
sense  of  time  —  of  the  temporal  rhythm  that  under- 
lies verse.  Thus  it  has  come  about,  historically,  that 
modern  English  verse  is  written  and  regarded  as  a  mat- 
ter of  stress  only,  because  to  the  superficial  view  stress 
is  predominant.1  Probably  the  truth  is  that  most  poets 
compose  verse  with  the  ideal  metrical  scheme  def- 
initely in  mind  and  trust  (as  they  well  may)  to  their 
rhythmical  instinct  for  the  rest.  Whatever  device  they 
employ  for  keeping  the  pattern  always  before  them, 
they  do  keep  it  distinctly  before  them  —  except  per- 
haps in  the  simpler  measures  which  run  easily  in  the 
ear  —  and  build  from  it  as  from  a  scaffolding.  They 
may  not  know  and  may  not  need  to  know  that  this 
metrical  scheme  does  itself  involve  equal  time  units  as 
well  as  equal  stresses.  They  vary  and  modulate  both 
time  and  stress  according  to  the  thought  and  feeling 
the  words  are  asked  to  express.  And  though  it  is  a 
point  on  which  no  one  can  have  a  dogmatic  opinion, 

1  Modern  English  verse  theory  may  be  dated  from  Coleridge's  famous 
manifesto  in  the  prefatory  note  to  Christabel  in  1816:  "I  have  only  to  add 
that  the  metre  of  Christabel  is  not,  properly  speaking,  irregular,  though  it 
may  seem  so  from  its  being  founded  on  a  new  principle:  namely,  that  of 
counting  in  each  line  the  accents,  not  the  syllables.  Though  the  latter  may 
vary  from  seven  to  twelve,  yet  in  each  line  the  accents  will  be  found  to  be 
only  four.  Nevertheless,  this  occasional  variation  in  number  of  syllables 
is  not  introduced  wantonly,  or  for  mere  ends  of  convenience,  but  in  cor- 
respondence with  some  transition  in  the  nature  of  the  imagery  or  pas- 
sion." Even  here  there  is  implied  a  vague  perception  of  the  time  unit,  but 
Coleridge  was  apparently  unaware  of  its  significance.  See  Leigh  Hunt's 
comments  in  "What  is  Poetry?"  in  Imagination  and  Fancy. 


METRE  67 

one  inclines  to  the  belief  that  usually  the  finest  adapta- 
tions of  ideas  and  words  to  metre  are  spontaneous  and 
intuitive.  Skill  is  the  result  of  habit  and  training,  and 
metrical  skill  like  any  other;  but  there  is  also  the 
faculty  divine.  One  is  suspicious  of  the 

Laborious  Orient  ivory  sphere  in  sphere; 

for  when  we  can  see  how  the  trick  is  done  we  lose  the 
true  thrill. 

It  would  be  absurd  to  imagine  a  prosody  which  was 
independent  of  its  own  materials.  It  would  be  absurd 
therefore  not  to  find  in  all  language  the  elements  out  of 
which  verse  is  made.  Indeed,  M.  Jourdain,  having  re- 
covered from  his  first  shock  on  learning  that  he  had 
actually  been  talking  prose,  must  prepare  for  a  second: 
that  he  has  actually  been  talking  potential  verse.  The 
three  acoustic  properties  of  speech  —  duration,  inten- 
sity, pitch  —  modified  by  the  logical  and  emotional 
content  of  which  the  sounds  are  symbolic,  combine  to 
produce  an  incredibly  subtle  and  elastic  medium  which 
the  poet  moulds  to  his  metrical  form.  In  this  process  of 
moulding  and  adjustment,  each  element,  under  the 
poet's  deft  handling,  yields  somewhat  to  the  other,  the 
natural  rhythm  of  language  and  the  formal  rhythm  of 
metre;  and  the  result  is  a  delicate,  exquisite  com- 
promise. When  we  attempt  to  analyze  it,  its  finer 
secrets  defy  us,  but  the  chief  fundamental  principles 
we  can  discover,  and  their  more  significant  manifesta- 
tions we  can  isolate  and  learn  to  know.  In  all  the  arts 
there  is  a  point  at  which  technique  merges  with  idea 
and  conceals  the  heart  of  its  mystery.  The  greatest 


68  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

poetry  is  not  always  clearly  dependent  upon  metrical 
power,  but  it  is  rarely  divorced  from  it.  No  one  would 
venture  to  say  how  much  the  metre  has  to  do  with  the 
beauty  of  the 

magic  casements  opening  on  the  foam 
Of  perilous  seas,  in  faery  lands  forlorn. 


CHAPTER  IV 

METRICAL  FORMS 
i.  THE  LINE 

EME  LENGTH.  A  line  of  English  verse  may  con- 
tain from  one  to  eight  feet.  Theoretically,  of 
course,  more  than  eighTTeet  would  be  possible;  but 
just  as  there  are  sounds  which  the  human  ear  cannot 
hear  and  colors  which  the  eye  cannot  see,  so  there  ap- 
pears to  be  a  limit  beyond  which  we  do  not  recognize 
the  line  as  a  unit.  The  most  frequently  used  lines  are 
of  four  and  five  feet,  most  conveniently  called,  respec- 
tively, 4-stress  and  5-stress  lines; l  those  of  one,  two, 
and  three  feet  tend  to  become  jerky,  those  of  more  than 
five  to  break  up  into  smaller  unjts. 

Line  Movement.  The  movement  of  a  line  is  deter- 
mined primarily  by  the  foot  of  which  it  is  composed. 
It  is  iambic,  trochaic,  anapestic,  dactylic,  according  as 
the  metrical  pattern  is  made  up  of  iambs,  trochees,  etc. 
Thus 

That  time  of  year  thou  mayst  in  me  behold 
When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few,  do  hang 

1  The  expression  '  4-foot  line 'is  too  suggestive  of  fishing  or  survey- 
ing; 'tetrameter'  is  confusing  because  of  its  different  usage  in  classical 
prosody;  '  4-stress  line'  is  open  to  objection  because  it  seems  to  overlook 
the  temporal  quality  of  the  foot.  On  the  whole,  however,  the  last  seems 
preferable. 

69 


7o  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

,•     I          tx 

Upon  those  boughs  that  shake  against  the  cold  — 
Bare  ruin'd  choirs  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 

SHAKESPEARE,  Sonnet  73. 

is  plainly  iambic. 

\         v     ^  Li  ) 

You  and  I  would  rather  see  that  angel, 
Painted  by  the  tenderness  of  Dante, 
Would  we  not?  —  than  read  a  fresh  Inferno. 

You  and  I  will  never  see  that  picture. 

While  he  mused  on  love  and  Beatrice, 

While  he  soften 'd  o'er  his  outlined  angel, 

In  they  broke,  those  "people  of  importance": 

We  and  Bice  bear  the  loss  forever. 

BROWNING,  One  Word  More, 
is  plainly  trochaic. 

^  u       i  "    "    ! 

I  have  found  out  a  gift  for  my  fair, 

I  have  found  where  the  wood-pigeons  breed. 

SHENSTONE,  Pastoral  Ballad, 
is  plainly  anapestic. 

I      v    */ 

Take  her  up  tenderly, 

Lift  her  with  care; 

Fashion'd  so  slenderly, 

Young,  and  so  fair! 

HOOD,  Bridge  of  Sighs. 
is  plainly  dactylic. 

But  very  few  poems  conform  exactly  to  the  metrical 
pattern.     For  example,  Blake's 

Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night, 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Could  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry? 

seems  clearly  to  be  trochaic;  yet  the  last  trochee  of 
each  line  lacks  its  unstressed  element,  and  the  fourth 
line  has  an  extra-metrical  syllable,  Could.  By  itself  the 
fourth  line  would  be  called  iambic:  in  this  context  it  is 


METRICAL  FORMS  71 

called  trochaic  with  '  anacrusis,'  i.  e.,  with  one  or 
more  extra-metrical  syllables  at  the  beginning.1  Or 
again  in  dough's  stanza, 

And  not  by  eastern  windows  only, 

When  daylight  comes,  comes  in  the  light; 

In  front  the  sun  climbs  slow,  how  slowly! 
But  westward,  look,  the  land  is  bright! 

'  Say  Not,  the  Struggle  Naught  Availeth.' 

the  movement  is  clearly  iambic,  yet  the  first  and  third 
lines  have  an  extra-metrical  syllable  at  the  end.  This  is 
called '  feminine  ending.' 

Moreover,  sometimes  the  word  or  phrase  rhythm 
clashes  with  the  metrical  rhythm  and  makes  the  result- 
ant seem  doubtful.  Thus 

Of  hand,  of  foot,  of  lips,  of  eye,  of  brow. 

SHAKESPEARE,  Sonnet  106. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance. 

TENNYSON,  The  Brook. 

are  unmistakably  iambic,  and  Wordsworth's 

Pansies,  lilies,  kingcups,  daisies. 

To  the  Small  Celandine. 

is  unmistakably  trochaic;  but  in  Tennyson's 

This  pretty,  puny,  weakly  little  one. 

Enoch  Arden. 

With  rosy  slender  fingers  backward  drew. 

(Enone. 

there  are  metrically  five  iambs  in  each  line,  but  also  in 
each  four  words  that  are  trochaic.  The  result  is  a  con- 

1  From  the  point  of  view  of  stanzaic  rhythm  Could  may  be  said  to 
complete  the  final  trochee  of  the  previous  line: 

What  immortal  hand  or  eye  Could 
Frame,  etc. 


72  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

flict  of  rhythms,  a  kind  of  syncopation,  which  produces 
a  very  pleasing  variant  of  the  formal  rhythm. 

Furthermore,  in  a  passage  like  the  following,  which 
everyone  recognizes  as  exquisitely  musical,  it  is  not 
obvious  whether  the  rhythm  is  iambic  or  anapestic  or 
trochaic. 

When  the  hounds  of  spring  are  on  winter's  traces, 
The  mother  of  months  in  meadow  or  plain 

Fills  the  shadows  and  windy  places 
With  lisp  of  leaves  and  ripple  of  rain; 

And  the  brown  bright  nightingale  amorous 

Is  half  assuaged  for  Itylus, 

For  the  Thracian  ships  and  the  foreign  faces, 
The  tongueless  vigil,  and  all  the  pain. 

SWINBURNE,  Atalanta  in  Calydon. 

If  the  first  two  syllables  be  regarded  as  anacrusis,  the 
first  line  would  be  trochaic,  with  a  dactyl  substituted 
for  a  trochee  in  the  second  foot.  The  third  line  is  ap- 
parently trochaic.  But  only  three  lines  of  the  eight 
have  a  feminine  or  trochaic  ending,  and  all  except  the 
third  have  iambic  or  rising  rhythm  in  the  first  foot;  so 
that  it  is  more  simple  and  natural  to  consider  the  last 
syllable  of  the  first,  third,  and  seventh  lines  as  extra- 
metrical,  and  call  the  rhythm  iambic-anapestic,  or 
rising.  Since  the  w  J-  and  ^  w  JL  are  both  rising  rhythm 
they  may  be  readily  substituted  one  for  the  other  — 
the  appearance  of  equal  time  values  being  preserved  — 
without  disturbing  the  musical  flow  of  sounds.  Thus 
of  the  thirty-two  feet  in  the  eight  lines,  seventeen  are 
iambs  and  eleven  anapests,  two  are  weak  iambs  (-orous, 
-yius),  one  a  spondee  (bright  night-),  and  one  monosyl- 
labic with  a  rest  (A  Fills).  Tennyson's  Vastness  may 


METRICAL  FORMS  73 

also  be  studied  for  its  combinations  of  trochees,  dac- 
tyls, and  spondees.  Here  is  one  stanza: 

Stately  purposes,  valour  in  battle,  glorious  annals  of  army  and 

fleet, 
Death  for  the  right  cause,  death  for  the  wrong  cause,  trumpets  of 

victory,  groans  of  defeat. 

Similar  combinations,  still  freer,  with  frequent  ana- 
crusis as  well,  are  characteristic  of  Swinburne's  Hes- 
peria;  e.  g.  - 

Shrill  j  shrieks  in  our  |  faces  the  |  blind  bland  |  air  that  was  | 

mute  as  a  |  maiden, 
Stung  into  |  storm  by  the  |  speed  of  our  |  passage,  and  |  deaf 

where  we  [  past; 
And  our  i  spirits  too  |  burn  as  we  |  bound,  thine  |  holy  but  |  mine 

heavy  f  laden, 

As  we  i  burn  with  the  |  fire  of  our  |  flight;  ah,  |  love,  shall  we  | 
win  at  the  |  last? 

The  first  line  of  a  poem  is  not  always  a  good  criterion 
of  the  metre  of  the  whole  poem  —  though  Poe  de- 
clared that  it  should  be.  For  Tennyson's  The  Higher 
Pantheism  is  chiefly  in  triple  falling  rhythm,  but  it 
begins 
The  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars,  the  seas,  the  hills  and  the  plains. 

The  first  stanza  of  Campbell's  famous  Battle  of  the 
Baltic  runs: 

Of  Nelson  and  the  North, 

Sing  the  glorious  day's  renown, 

When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 

All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown, 

And  her  arms  along  the  deep  proudly  shone; 

By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand, 

In  a  bold  determined  hand, 

And  the  Prince  of  all  the  land 

Led  them  on. 


74  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Here  the  first  line  might  be  3-stress  or  2-stress;    the 
second,  third,  fourth,  sixth,  seventh,  eighth  might  have 
three  stresses  or  four;  the  fifth  five  or  six;  the  ninth 
two  or  one.     It  is  not,  in  fact,  until  we  reach  the 
Again!  again!  again! 

of  the  fourth  stanza  that  we  are  sure  how  the  poem 
ought  to  be  read.  But  Campbell  was  not  a  faultless 
artist.  There  is  the  same  metrical  ambiguity,  however, 
in  Tennyson's 

Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 

until  the  second  line  shows  us  we  should  read  it  with 
three  stresses,  not  four.  There  is  a  curious  verse  in 
Gay's  Beggar's  Opera  which  well  illustrates  the  neces- 
sity of  consulting  the  context  to  determine  the  pattern, 
for  it  can,  taken  by  itself,  be  scanned  in  three  different 
ways: 

How  happy  could  I  be  with  either. 

Air  XXXV. 

viz.,  wJLv^JLwAw±w   orwjLwww_Lw_Lw   or 
/  /  / 

But  sometimes  it  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  say 
whether  a  line  or  series  of  lines  is  in  rising  or  falling 
rhythm,  or  what  sort  of  foot  is  predominant  —  in 
other  words,  what  is  the  formal  metrical  pattern. 
This  difficulty  is,  of  course,  no  fault  of  the  poet's:  it  lies 
in  the  complexity  of  the  phenomena,  and  is  after  all 
a  weakness  of  our  power  of  analysis.  In  the  spectrum 
blue  merges  into  green,  red  into  yellow,  and  though  we 
invent  names  for  various  tints,  others  still  escape  classi- 
fication. And  just  as  some  verses  combine  iambic  and 


METRICAL  FORMS  75 

anapestic  (rising),  or  dactylic  and  trochaic  (falling) 
movements,  so  others  combine  rising  and  falling 
rhythms.  For  example, 

The  mountain  sheep  are  sweeter, 
But  the  valley  sheep  are  fatter; 
We  therefore  deemed  it  meeter 
To  carry  off  the  latter. 

PEACOCK,  War-song  of  Dinas  Vawr,  from 
The  Misfortunes  of  Elphin. 

This  may  be  trochaic  with  anacrusis  or  iambic  with 
feminine  endings,  but  neither  quite  adequately  de- 
scribes it.  Is  Shelley's  To  Night  prevailingly  iambic  or 
trochaic?  All  of  the  twenty-five  long  lines  end  with 
an  iamb,  but  only  eleven  begin  with  rising  rhythm 
(thirteen  begin  with  falling  or  trochaic  rhythm,  and 
one  is  ambiguous).  Two  of  the  short  lines  are  def- 
initely iambic,  the  other  eight  are  doubtful,  but  ap- 
parently trochaic.  If  it  is  read  as  iambic,  eleven  of  the 
hundred  feet  in  the  long  lines  will  be  '  irregular  ';  if  it  is 
read  as  trochaic,  eleven  likewise  will  be  '  irregular.' 
Milton's  L'Allegro  and  II  Penseroso  contain  lines  that 
are  purely  iambic,  as 

And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bow'd; 
some  that  are  purely  trochaic,  as 

Whilst  the  landskip  round  it  measures; 
and  others  which  are  a  combination,  as 

Bosom'd  high  in  tufted  trees. 

Then  to  the  spicy  nut-brown  ale. 

The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running. 

Again,  how  shall  the  following  stanza  from  F.  W.  H. 
Myers's  Saint  Paul  be  classified? 


76  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Lo,  if  some  strange  intelligible  thunder 
Sang  to  the  earth  the  secret  of  a  star, 

Scarce  could  ye  catch,  for  terror  and  for  wonder, 
Shreds  of  the  story  that  was  peal'd  so  far. 

The  metrical  scheme  appears  to  be 


*  \j    \j     '     \j     ' 

•  -    - 


that  is,  5-stress  trochaic,  with  dactylic  substitution 
in  the  first  foot  and  truncation  or  catalexis  of  the  last 
foot  in  the  second  and  fourth  lines;  or  perhaps  iambic, 
with  anapestic  substitution  in  the  second  foot  and  a 
feminine  ending  in  the  first  and  third  lines.  But  when 
many  of  these  stanzas  are  read  in  succession,  the  move- 
ment is  found  to  be 


that  is,  4-stress  falling  rhythm,  with  intermixed  duple, 
triple,  and  quadruple  time. 

This  introduces  a  new  question,  whether  English 
verse  admits  of  a  foot  resembling  the  Greek  paeon, 
_^ww.  The  answer  seems  to  be  that  theoretically  it 
does  not,  but  practically  it  does.1  It  would,  doubtless, 

1  Apparent  paeons  occur  now  and  then,  where  the  usual  contraction 
would  reduce  them  to  triple  time.  Mr.  Omond,  Study  of  Metre,  pp.  96, 
97,  gives  among  others  these  examples: 

The  leaves  they  were  withering  and  sere. 
Our  memories  were  treacherous  and  sere. 

POE. 


METRICAL  FORMS  77 

be  more  accurate  to  describe  the  foot  as  _L  w  ^  w,  for 
some  stress,  however  slight,  is  regularly  felt  on  the 
third  syllable.  But  the  poets  have  had  their  way,  and 
written  what  certainly  try  to  be  paeonic  feet.  Thus 
Macaulay's  The  Battle  of  Naseby  begins: 

Oh!  wherefore  come  ye  forth  in  triumph  from  the  north, 
With  your  hands,  and  your  feet,  and  your  raiment  all  red? 
And  wherefore  doth  your  rout  send  forth  a  bitter  shout? 
And  whence  be  the  grapes  of  the  wine-press  that  ye  tread?1 

And  Mr.  Kipling's  The  Last  Chantey: 

Thus  said  the  Lord  in  the  vault  above  the  Cherubim, 
Calling  to  the  angels  and  the  souls  in  their  degree: 

"Lo!    Earth  has  passed  away 

On  the  smoke  of  Judgment  Day. 
That  Our  word  may  be  established,  shall  We  gather  up  the  sea?" 

And  Mr.  E.  A.  Robinson's  The  Valley  of  the  Shadow  is 
in  this  same  rhythm,  the  first  four  lines  being  almost 
perfectly  regular: 

There  were  faces  to  remember  in  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow, 
There  were  faces  unregarded,  there  were  faces  to  forget; 
There  were  fires  of  grief  and  fear  that  are  a  few  forgotten  ashes, 
There  were  sparks  of  recognition  that  are  not  forgotten  yet. 

Some  have  read  Browning's  A  Toccata  of  Galuppi's  to 
the  same  tune,  but  at  grave  risk  of  destroying  the 
music. 

The  rags  of  the  sail 
Are  flickering  in  ribbons  within  the  fierce  gale. 

SHELLEV. 
A  land  that  is  lonelier  than  ruin. 

SWINBURNE. 
1  In  the  last  stanza  occurs  the  foot: 

_L  w   w   v_/  w 
she  of  the  seven 


78  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Rightly  described,  this  movement  is  a  discontinuous 
syncopation  of  fours  and  twos;  the  prevailing  formal 
unit  is  ±_  w  ^  ^,  but  it  is  varied  now  by  JL  w  _L  w,  and 
now  by  simply  _L  w,  with  the  usual  substitution  of 
_L  ^  w  for  j_  w.  It  is  an  excellent  exercise  to  analyze 
Jean  Ingelow's  Like  a  Laverock  in  the  Lift  and  ob- 
serve the  pauses,  holds,  and  substitutions.  The  most 
notable  are  _1  jL  w  for  J_  ^  ^  w  (we  too,  it  's),  and 
J_  w  _L  (lass,  my  love,  1.  5;  thou  art  mine,  1.  6;  missed  the 
mark,  1.  7,  etc.).  The  third  line  may  be  read 

Like  a  I  laverock  in  the  |  lift  A      etc. 
or 

Like  a  laverock  |  in  the  lift  |  etc. 

The  former  seems  preferable.1 

It's  we  two,  it's  we  two,  it's  we  two  for  aye, 
All  the  world,  and  we  two,  and  Heaven  be  our  stay. 
Like  a  laverock  in  the  lift,  sing,  O  bonny  bride! 
All  the  world  was  Adam  once,  with  Eve  by  his  side. 

What's  the  world,  my  lass,  my  love!  —  what  can  it  do? 
I  am  thine,  and  thou  art  mine;  lift  is  sweet  and  new. 
If  the  world  have  missed  the  mark,  let  it  stand  by, 
For  we  two  have  gotten  leave,  and  once  more  we'll  try. 

Like  a  laverock  in  the  lift,  sing,  O  bonny  bride! 
It's  we  two,  it's  we  two,  happy  side  by  side. 
Take  a  kiss  from  me,  thy  man;  now  the  song  begins: 
"All  is  made  afresh  for  us,  and  the  brave  heart  wins." 

When  the  darker  days  come,  and  no  sun  will  shine, 
Thou  shalt  dry  my  tears,  lass,  and  I'll  dry  thine. 
It's  we  two,  it's  we  two,  while  the  world's  away. 
Sitting  by  the  golden  sheaves  on  our  wedding  day. 

1  See  Sidney  Lanier's  scansion  of  the  first  stanza,  in  his  Science  of 
English  Verse,  p.  228. 


METRICAL  FORMS  79 

How  musical  and  effective  this  rhythm  is,  judg- 
ments will  differ.  It  is  clearly  capable  of  great  vari- 
ety, but  the  large  proportion  of  light  syllables  forces 
heavier  stress  on  some  of  the  accents,  and  the  number 
of  naturally  heavy  syllables  which  do  not  coincide  with 
the  metrical  stress  is  excessive;  and  the  almost  inevit- 
able result  is  a  thumping  which  only  the  deftest  manip- 
ulation can  avoid.1 

Probably  the  most  striking  and  successful  use  of 
the  4-beat  movement  is  that  of  Meredith's  Love  in  a 
Valley.  So  marked  is  the  time  element,  with  the  com- 
pensatory lengthenings  and  pauses,  that  the  poem  al- 
most demands  to  be  chanted  rather  than  read;  but 
when  well  chanted  it  is  peculiarly  musical,  and  when 
ill  read  it  is  horribly  ragged  and  choppy.  The  whole 
poem  will  repay  study  for  the  metrical  subtleties,  but 
the  first  stanza  is  sufficient  to  illustrate  the  rhythm 
(there  are  normally  four  _L  w  w  w  in  each  line).2 

1  An  interesting  variation  of  this  rhythm  (though  perhaps  to  be  re- 
lated to  the  Middle  English  descendant  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  long  line) 
occurs  in  Shelley's  Prometheus  Unbound,  Act  I, 

O  sister,  desolation  is  a  difficult  thing. 

Compare  also  Shelley's  earlier  poem,  Stanzas  —  April,  1814;  and  for  a 
more  recent  example: 

Ithaca,  Ithaca,  the  land  of  my  desire! 

I'm  home  again  in  Ithaca,  beside  my  own  hearth-fire. 

Sweet  patient  eyes  have  welcomed  me,  all  tenderness  and  truth, 

Wherein  I  see  kept  sacredly,  the  visions  of  our  youth. 

AMELIA  J.  BURR,  Ulysses  in  Ithaca. 

2  This  metre  has  been  used,  e.g.,  by  George  Darley  (1795-1846)  in 
The  Flower  of  Beauty  (four  stanzas)  and  (rather  monotonously)    by 
Charles  Swain  (1803-74)  in  Tripping  down  the  Field-Path  (cf.  Sted- 
man's  Victorian  Anthology,  pp.  17,  76);  and  more  recently  by  Mr.  Alfred 
Noyes. 


8o  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Under  yonder  beech-tree  single  on  the  greensward, 

Couch'd  with  her  arms  behind  her  golden  head, 
Knees  and  tresses  folded  to  slip  and  ripple  idly, 

Lies  my  young  love  sleeping  in  the  shade. 
Had  I  the  heart  to  slide  an  arm  beneath  her, 

Press  her  parting  lips  as  her  waist  I  gather  slow, 
Waking  in  amazement  she  could  not  but  embrace  me: 

Then  would  she  hold  me  and  never  let  me  go? 

Examples.  There  occur  examples  of  I-,  2-,  3-,  4-,  5-, 
6-,  7-,  8-stress  iambic,  trochaic,  anapestic,  and  dactylic 
lines,  sometimes  used  continuously  and  sometimes  used 
in  combinations  with  other  lengths.  But  many  of  these 
are  unusual,  and  may  be  found  only  by  diligent  search.1 
Some  have  already  been  illustrated  in  the  previous 
section,  others  occur  here  and  there  throughout  this 
volume,  especially  in  the  paragraphs  on  the  stanza; 
some  of  the  more  important,  however,  are  given  below. 
But,  of  course,  the  line  rhythm  is  significant  mainly  as 
a  unit  of  the  longer  composition,  and  brief  selections 
cannot  well  represent  the  rhythmic  movement  of  a 
whole  poem.  Whenever  possible  the  poem  should  be 
read  complete. 

Attempts  have  been  made  to  characterize  the  dif- 
ferent feet  as  slow  or  rapid,  solemn  or  light,  and  so  on, 
but  they  are  generally  unsuccessful.  For  though  cer- 
tain measures  seem  to  be  inherently  unsuitable  for 
dignified  themes,  or  for  humorous  subjects,  there  are 
always  contrary  instances  to  be  adduced,  and  it  is 
dangerous  to  be  dogmatic.  Anapests  are  said  to  be 
characteristically  rapid,  hurried,  because  they  crowd 
more  syllables  than  iambs  do  into  a  line;  but  anapests 

1  For  a  classified  collection  see  Alden,  English  Verse,  pp.  24  ff. 


METRICAL  FORMS  81 

are  often  slow-moving,  because  there  is  frequent 
iambic  substitution  and  because  many  important 
words  —  monosyllables,  for  the  most  part  —  have  to 
do  duty  for  light  syllables  metrically.  Perfect  an- 
apests,  like  perfect  dactyls,  are  comparatively  few  in 
English. 
Two-stress  and  6-stress  anapestic: 

Canst  thou  say  in  thine  heart 

Thou  hast  seen  with  thine  eyes 
With  what  cunning  of  art 

Thou  wast  wrought  in  what  wise, 

By  what  force  of  what  stuff  thou  wast  shapen,  and  shown  on  my 
breast  to  the  skies? 

SWINBURNE,  Hertha.1 

Three-stress  anapestic: 

If  you  go  over  desert  and  mountain, 

Far  into  the  country  of  Sorrow, 

To-day  and  to-night  and  to-morrow, 
And  maybe  for  months  and  for  years; 

You  shall  come  with  a  heart  that  is  bursting 

For  trouble  and  toiling  and  thirsting, 
You  shall  certainly  come  to  the  fountain 
At  length,  —  to  the  Fountain  of  Tears. 

ARTHUR  O'SHAUGHNESSY,  The  Fountain  of  Tears. 

Though  the  day  of  my  destiny's  over, 

And  the  star  of  my  fate  hath  declined, 
Thy  soft  heart  refused  to  discover 

The  faults  which  so  many  could  find; 
Though  thy  soul  with  my  grief  was  acquainted, 

It  shrunk  not  to  share  it  with  me, 
And  the  love  which  my  spirit  hath  painted 

It  never  hath  found  but  in  thee. 

BYRON,  Stanzas  to  Augusta. 

1  This  whole  poem  abounds  in  substitutions.  See  Shelley's  The  Cloud, 
above,  pages  59  f.,  which  may  be  regarded  as  2- and  3-stress  anapestic 
lines,  though  two  2-stress  lines  are  printed  as  one. 


82  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Four-stress  anapestic: 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold, 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold; 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the  sea 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

BYRON,  The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib. 

Five-stress  anapestic.  This  is  a  peculiar  metre, 
usually  felt  to  be  choppy  and  harsh.  It  has  been  said 
that  no  one  can  read  Browning's  Saul  and  follow  both 
metre  and  meaning  at  the  same  time: 

As  I  sang,  — 

Oh,  our  manhood's  prime  vigour!    No  spirit  feels  waste, 
Not  a  muscle  is  stopped  in  its  playing  nor  sinew  unbraced. 
Oh,  the  wild  joys  of  living!  the  leaping  from  rock  up  to  rock, 
The  strong  rending  of  boughs  from  the  fir-tree,  the  cool,  silver 

shock 
Of  the  plunge  in  a  pool's  living  water,  the  hunt  of  the  bear,  .  .  . 

Eight-stress  anapestic.  This  is  on  the  whole  the 
longest  line  possible  in  English.1  It  is  really  a  tour  de 
force. 

The  trochaic  line  is  generally  stiff  and  thumping.  It 
does  not  admit  of  frequent  substitutions,  for  many  sub- 

1  Tennyson's  To  Virgil,  though  it  has  nine  stresses  in  each  line  and  is 
therefore  an  exception  to  the  statement  made  above,  page  69,  is  shorter  in 
respect  of  the  number  of  syllables.  There  is,  moreover,  a  poem,  After 
Death,  by  Fanny  Parnell,  consisting  of  fourteen  lo-stress  lines.  The  cum- 
brousness  of  the  rhythm  is  apparent  in  these  two  specimens  —  which  are 
rather  better  than  the  others  — 

Ah,  the  harpings  and  the  salvos  and  the  shoutings  of  thy  exiled  sons  re- 
turning! 

I  should  hear,  though  dead  and  mouldered,  and  the  grave-damps  should 
not  chill  my  bosom's  burning. 

The  whole  of  this  poem  may  be  found  in  Sir  Edward  T.  Cook's  More 
Literary  Recreations,  p.  278. 


METRICAL  FORMS  83 

stitutions  destroy  the  trochaic  effect.  It  usually  comes 
to  an  abrupt  close  because  feminine  endings  are  not 
easy  or  natural  in  English.  Moreover,  there  are  in  the 
language  so  many  dissyllabic  words  of  trochaic  move- 
ment that  the  resulting  frequent  coincidence  of  word 
and  foot  tends  to  produce  monotony.  Tennyson  once 
said  that  when  he  wanted  to  write  a  poem  that  would 
be  popular  he  wrote  in  trochaics.  Certainly  the  stresses 
are  more  prominent  in  trochaic  verse  than  in  iambic  or 
even  anapestic;  and  the  untrained  ear  likes  its  rhythms 
well  marked.1  The  Locksley  Hall  poems  are  good  ex- 
amples: 

Comfort  ?  comfort  scorned  of  devils !  this  is  truth  the  poet  sings, 
That  a  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  is  remembering  happier  things. 
Drug  thy  memories,  lest  thou  learn  it,  lest  thy  heart  be  put  to 

proof, 
In  the  dead,  unhappy  night,  and  when  the  rain  is  on  the  roof. 

Notable  is  Tennyson's  skill  in  this  8-stress  line  in 
avoiding  the  natural  break  into  4  +  4-  This  break  oc- 
curs regularly  and  is  enforced  by  the  rime  in  Poe's  The 
Raven.  One  of  the  most  successful  metrically  of  purely 
trochaic  poems  is  Browning's  One  Word  More,  a  few 
lines  of  which  are  quoted  on  page  70. 
Four-stress  trochaic. 

Shall  I,  wasting  in  despair, 
Die  because  a  woman's  fair? 
Or  make  pale  my  cheeks  with  care 
'Cause  another's  rosy  are? 

1  By  a  series  of  experiments  C.  R.  Squire  found  a  natural  preference 
for  duple  over  triple  rhythms  (though  the  triple  rhythms  seemed  '  pleas- 
anter  '),  and  for  trochaic  and  dactylic  over  iambic  and  anapestic.  (Am. 
Journal  of  Psychology,  vol.  12  (1901),  p.  587.) 


84  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Be  she  fairer  than  the  day 
Or  the  flow'ry  meads  in  May, 

If  she  think  not  well  of  me, 

What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ? 

WITHER,  The  Author's  Resolution. 

Souls  of  Poets  dead  and  gone, 
What  Elysium  have  ye  known, 
Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern, 
Choicer  than  the  Mermaid  Tavern  ? 

KEATS,  Lines  on  the  Mermaid  Tavern. 

Five-stress  trochaic. 

Then  the  music  touch'd  the  gates  and  died; 

Rose  again  from  where  it  seem'd  to  fail, 

Storm 'd  in  orbs  of  song,  a  growing  gale; 

Till  thronging  in  and  in,  to  where  they  waited, 

As  'twere  a  hundred-throated  nightingale, 

The  strong  tempestuous  treble  throbbed  and  palpitated; 

Ran  into  its  giddiest  whirl  of  sound, 

Caught  the  sparkles,  and  in  circles, 

Purple  gauzes,  golden  hazes,  liquid  mazes, 

Flung  the  torrent  rainbow  round. 

TENNYSON,  The  Vision  of  Sin. 

(Note  here  the  substitutions  for  special  imitative 
effect.) 

Shelley's  To  a  Skylark  is  in  trochaic  metre  of  3- 
stress  and  6-stress  lines. 

Dactylic  lines  are  not  common  except  in  the  imi- 
tations of  the  classical  hexameter.  Hood's  familiar 
Bridge  of  Sighs  in  2-stress  lines,  and  Tennyson's  still 
more  familiar  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade  (which 
is,  however,  only  partly  dactylic)  are  good  illustra- 
tions. 

Iambic  lines  are  by  very  far  the  most  frequent  in 
English  verse.  No  special  examples  need  therefore  be 


METRICAL  FORMS  85 

given  except  of  the  less  usual  6-stress  and  7-stress  lines. 
On  blank  verse  see  pages  133  ff. 

The  6-stress  line  is  called  the  alexandrine  (probably 
from  the  name  of  an  Old  French  poem  in  this  metre). 
It  is  still  the  standard  line  in  classical  French  verse; 
but  the  French  alexandrine  differs  from  the  English, 
principally  in  having  four  stresses  instead  of  six.  In 
English  it  is  usually  awkward  when  used  for  long 
stretches,  and  tends  to  split  into  3+3.  Lowell  called 
it  "the  droning  old  alexandrine."  It  was  employed 
for  several  long  poems  in  Middle  English;  and  certain 
of  the  Elizabethans  tried  it:  Surrey,  Sidney,  and 
Drayton — Drayton's  Polyolbion  (1613)  contains  about 
15,000  alexandrines.  It  has  not  commended  itself  to 
modern  poets,  with  one  exception,  for  sustained  work. 
Browning  wrote  his  Fifine  at  the  Fair  (1872)  in  this 
measure;  and  while  he  succeeded  in  relieving  it  of  some 
of  its  monotony,  he  only  demonstrated  again  its  un- 
fitness,  in  English,  for  continuous  use.  A  peculiar 
musical  effect  is  obtained  from  it,  however,  by  Mr. 
Siegfried  Sassoon  in  his  Picture-Show: 

And  still  they  come  and  go:  and  this  is  all  I  know  — 
That  from  the  gloom  I  watch  an  endless  picture-show, 
Where  wild  or  listless  faces  flicker  on  their  way, 
With  glad  or  grievous  hearts  I'll  never  understand 
Because  Time  spins  so  fast,  and  they've  no  time  to  stay 
Beyond  the  moment's  gesture  of  a  lifted  hand. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  the  last  line  of  the  Spenserian 
and  similar  stanzas  the  alexandrine  has  proved  very 
melodious  and  effective,  largely  by  contrast  with  the 
shorter  lines.  A  few  isolated  examples  will  illustrate 


86  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

some  of  its  powers,  but  of  course  the  whole  stanza 
should  be  read  together. 

And  streames  of  purple  bloud  new  die  the  verdant  fields. 

SPENSER,  Faerie  Queen,  I,  2,  17. 

Which  from  a  sacred  fountain  welled  forth  alway. 

Ibid.,  I,  i,  34. 

Swinges  the  scaly  horror  of  his  folded  tail. 

The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  through  the  deep. 

With  thousand  echoes  still  prolongs  each  heavenly  close. 

MILTON,  On  the  Morning  of  Christ's  Nativity. 

Dart  follows  dart;  lance,  lance;  loud  bellowings  speak  his  woes. 
BYRON,  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  I,  Ixxvi. 

Where'er  the  surge  may  sweep,  the  tempest's  breath  prevail. 

Ibid.,  Ill,  ii. 

As  though  a  rose  should  shut,  and  be  a  bud  again. 

KEATS,  Eve  of  St.  Agnes,  xxvii. 

Countless  and  swift  as  leaves  on  autumn's  tempest  shed. 

SHELLEY,  Revolt  of  Islam,  I,  iv. 

Month  follow  month  with  woe,  and  year  wake  year  to  sorrow. 

SHELLEY,  Adonais,  xxi. 

With  sparkless  ashes  load  an  unlamented  urn.  Ibid.,  xl. 

Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest  thought. 

SHELLEY,  To  a  Skylark. 

The  slender  stream 
Along  the  cliff  to  fall  and  pause  and  fall  did  seem. 

TENNYSON,  Lotos  Eaters. 

Alexandrines  were  occasionally  in  the  eighteenth 
century  (and  more  frequently  in  the  late  seventeenth) 
inserted  among  heroic  couplets  for  variety  and  special 
effect,  as  in  Pope's 

The  huge  round  stone,  resulting  with  a  bound, 
Thunders  impetuous  down,  and  smokes  along  the  ground. 

Odyssey,  XI,  737-738. 


METRICAL  FORMS  87 

But  Pope  himself  condemned  the  *  needless  alexan- 
drine ' 

That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  slow  length  along. 

Essay  on  Criticism,  357. 

One  of  the  oldest  lines  of  modern  English  verse  is  the 
so-called  septenary  (septenarius),  having  had  a  nearly 
continuous  tradition  from  the  twelfth-century  Poema 
Morale  down  (in  its  divided  form)  to  the  present.  It 
began  as  a  single  line  of  seven  stresses  or  fourteen 
syllables,  and  continued  to  be  used  as  such  through  the 
Elizabethan  period,  and  sporadically  even  later.1  But 
on  account  of  its  customary  pause  after  the  fourth 
foot,  it  very  early  broke  into  two  short  lines  of  four 
and  three  stresses  each,  and  thus  the  septenary  couplet 
became  the  ballad  stanza.  For  example, 

And  even  the  lowly  valleys  joy  to  glitter  in  their  sight 
When  the  unmeasur'd  firmament  bursts  to  disclose  her  light. 

CHAPMAN,  Iliad,  VIII. 

is  essentially  the  same  metre,  though  printed  dif- 
ferently, as 

The  western  wave  was  all  aflame, 
The  day  was  wellnigh  done! 
Almost  upon  the  western  wave 
Rested  the  broad,  bright  sun. 

COLERIDGE,  Ancient  Mariner,  Part  III. 

The  more  notable  long  poems  in  septenaries  are 
Warner's  Albion's  England  (1586),  Golding's  transla- 
tion of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses  (1565, 1567),  and  Chap- 
man's translation  of  the  Iliad  (1598-1611). 

1  Wordsworth  and  Mrs.  Browning  have  written  rimed  septenaries. 


88  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

2.  THE  STANZA 

Couplet.  The  line  unit  is  used  sometimes  singly 
and  continuously,  as  in  blank  verse,  and  sometimes  in 
groups  usually  held  together  by  rime.  These  groups 
are  called  stanzas  or  strophes.  The  simplest  stanza  is, 
therefore,  the  couplet  rimed  aa.1  Couplets  are  either 
unequal  or  equal  in  length. 

The  only  much-used  unequal  couplet  is  the  combina- 
tion, now  old-fashioned,  of  an  alexandrine  and  a  sep- 
tenary, and  called,  from  the  number  of  syllables, 
PouTter's  Measure,  because,  says  Gascoigne  (1575), 
"it  gives  xii.  for  one  dozen  and  xiii.  for  another." 
Wyatt  and  Surrey  and  Sidney  wrote  in  it;  the  older 
drama  employed  it  occasionally;  Arthur  Brooke's 
Romeus  and  Juliet  (1562)  on  which  Shakespeare's  play 
was  based,  is  in  this  measure.  The  following  example 
is  by  Nicholas  Grimald  (1519-62). 

What  sweet  relief  the  showers  to  thirsty  plants  we  see, 
What  dear  delight  the  blooms  to  bees,  my  true  love  is  to  me! 
As  fresh  and  lusty  Ver  foul  Winter  doth  exceed  — 
As  morning  bright,  with  scarlet  sky,  doth  pass  the  evening's 

weed  — 

As  mellow  pears  above  the  crabs  esteemed  be  — 
So  doth  my  love  surmount  them  all,  whom  yet  I  hap  to  see! 

1  The  usual  and  most  convenient  way  of  indicating  stanzaic  structure 
is  with  small  italic  letters  for  the  rimes  and  either  superior  or  inferior  num- 
bers for  the  number  of  stresses  in  each  line.  Thus  Landor's  Rose  Aylmer: 
Ah,  what  avails  the  sceptred  race! 

Ah,  what  the  form  divine! 
What  every  virtue,  every  grace! 
Rose  Aylmer,  all  were  thine. 

is  described  as  a4  b3  a*  b3.  The  repetition  of  a  whole  line  is  indicated  by  a 
capital  letter.  When  all  the  lines  are  of  the  same  length,  one  exponent 
figure  suffices,  as  abba*  for  the  In  Memoriam  stanza. 


METRICAL  FORMS  89 

It  survives  chiefly  in  the  S.M.  (short  measure)  of  the 
hymn  books  and  such  stanzas  as  that  used  by  Ma- 
caulay  in  hisHoratius: 

From  Egypt's  bondage  come, 
Where  death  and  darkness  reign, 

We  seek  our  new  and  better  home, 
Where  we  our  rest  shall  gain. 

When  the  goodman  mends  his  armor, 

And  trims  his  helmet's  plume; 
When  the  goodwife's  shuttle  merrily 

Goes  flashing  through  the  loom; 
With  weeping  and  with  laughter 

Still  is  the  story  told, 
How  well  Horatius  kept  the  bridge 

In  the  brave  old  days  of  old. 

Other  unequal  couplets  are  found  in  Herrick's  A 
Thanskgiving  to  God  for  his  House  (a*a*)  and  Brown- 
ing's Love  among  the  Ruins  (#6<22). 

The  equal  couplet  is  used  both  continuously  and, 
more  rarely  except  with  long  lines,  as  a  single  stanza. 
Sometimes  two  or  three  couplets  are  combined  into  a 
larger  stanza.  The  usual  forms  of  the  couplet  used 
continuously  are  the  4-stress  or  short  couplet  ("octo- 
syllabic") and  the  5-stress  or  heroic  couplet  ("deca- 
syllabic"). 

Short_Cou^lft.  The  short  couplet  in  (Jupleiambic- 
trochaic  movement  has  proved  its  worth  by  its  long 
history  and  the  variety  of  its  uses.  The  English  bor- 
rowed it  from  the  French  octosyllabic  verse,  and  em- 
ployed it  chiefly  for  long  narrative  poems.  Chaucer 
used  it  in  his  earlier  work,  the  Book  of  the  Duchess, 
and  the  House  of  Fame;  Butler  in  the  serio-comic 


90  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Hudibras;  Scott,  Byron,  Wordsworth,  and  Morris  in 
their  Romantic  narrative  verse.  For  lyric  purposes  it 
was  used  by  Shakespeare  and  other  dramatists,  by 
Milton  in  L'Allegro  and  II  Penseroso,  and  since  then 
by  most  of  the  greater  and  lesser  poets.  But  its  effect, 
especially  in  long  poems,  is  often  monotonous  because 
of  the  rapid  recurrence  of  the  rimes,  and  its  powers  are 
somewhat  limited.  Except  under  expert  handling  it  is 
likely  to  turn  into  a  dog-trot,  and  it  seems  sometimes 
to  lack  dignity  where  dignity  is  required.  On  the 
whole  it  is  better  for  swift  movement,  for  the  obvious 
reason  that  the  line  is  short:  the  frequent  repetition  of 
the  unit,  both  line  and  couplet,  produces  the  effect  of 
hurry. 

Never  has  the  short  couplet  revealed  its  flexibility  to 
better  advantage  than  in  Milton's  L'Allegro  andJl 
Penseroso  and  in  Coleridge's  Christabel.  In  Christabel 
Coleridge  believed  he  was  inventing  a  new  prosodic 
principle,  that  of  counting  the  stresses  rather  than  the 
syllables; l  and  though  he  erred  with  respect  to  the 
originality  of  his  principle,  he  succeeded  in  getting  a 
freer  movement  than  the  couplet  had  had  since 
Chaucer.  Some  of  the  roughness  of  Chaucer's  short 
couplets  is  probably  due  to  the  imperfections  of  our 
texts,  and  some  also  to  the  haste  with  which  he  wrote 
—  it  is  in  this  metre  that  the  fatal  facility  of  certain 
poets  has  proved  the  worst  bane  —  but  the  Chau- 
cerian couplet  stands  as  a  prototype  (though  not  liter- 
ally a  model)  of  the  freer  flow  of  Byron's2  and  Morris's 

1  See  above,  p.  66,  n.  i. 

2  Byron  follows  now  one  model,  now  another.    In  Parisina  he  con- 
sciously tried  the  metrical  scheme  of  Christabel. 


METRICAL  FORMS  91 

couplets,  in  contrast  to  those  of  Scott  and  Wordsworth, 
which  resemble  the  stricter,  syllable-counting  couplets 
of  Chaucer's  friend  Gower. 

The  chief  drawbacks  of  the  short  couplet,  besides 
monotony,  are  the  tendency  to  diffuseness  of  language 
and  looseness  of  grammatical  structure  (as  in  Chaucer 
and  Scott,  for  instance),  and  rime-padding,  i.  e.,  the  in- 
sertion of  phrases  and  sometimes  even  irrelevant  ideas, 
for  the  sake  of  the  rime. 

The  chief  sources  of  variety  are  substitution,  pause, 
run-on  lines,  and  division.  The  first  is  very  apparent  in 
the  much-quoted  passage  in  Christabel: 

The  night  is  chill;  the  forest  bare; 

Is  it  the  wind  that  moaneth  bleak? 

There  is  not  wind  enough  in  the  air 

To  move  away  the  ringlet  curl 

From  the  lovely  lady's  cheek  — 

There  is  not  wind  enough  to  twirl 

The  one  red  leaf,  the  last  of  its  clan, 

That  dances  as  often  as  dance  it  can, 

Hanging  so  light,  and  hanging  so  high, 

On  the  topmost  twig  that  looks  up  at  the  sky. 

The  pause  offers  more  difficulties  for  the  poet,  and 
more  opportunities;  since  the  line  is  so  short,  and  the 
rimes  reinforce  the  regular  metrical  pause  at  the  end  of 
the  line,  important  grammatical  pauses  cannot  well 
occur  in  the  middle  of  the  line  without  danger  of  break- 
ing the  rhythm.  The  logical  pause  must,  therefore, 
usually  coincide  with  the  metrical  and  thus  emphasize 
unduly  the  line  unit.  Moreover,  the  quick  return  of 
the  rime  sound  causes  the  couplet  itself  to  be  felt  as  a 
unit  and  produces  what  are  called  '  closed  couplets,'  in 


92  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

which  the  two  lines  contain  an  independent  idea.  To 
avoid  irksome  uniformity  in  this  regard  three  devices 
are  customary:  to  'run-on'  the  meaning  from  one  line 
to  the  next,  thus  momentarily  obscuring  the  metrical 
pause,  to  *  run-on  '  the  couplets  themselves,  and  to 
divide  the  couplet  so  that  the  second  verse  belongs  to 
a  new  sentence  or  independent  clause. 

And  thus,  when  they  appeared  at  last, 

And  all  my  bonds  aside  were  cast, 

These  heavy  walls  to  me  had  grown 

A  heritage  —  and  all  my  own! 
5  And  half  I  felt  as  they  were  come 

To  tear  me  from  a  second  home. 

With  spiders  I  had  friendship  made, 

And  watched  them  in  their  sullen  trade; 

Had  seen  the  mice  by  moonlight  play  — 
10  And  why  should  I  feel  less  than  they? 

We  were  all  inmates  of  one  place, 

And  I,  the  monarch  of  each  race, 

Had  power  to  kill;  yet,  strange  to  tell! 

In  quiet  we  had  learned  to  dwell. 
15  My  very  chains  and  I  grew  friends, 

So  much  a  long  communion  tends 

To  make  us  what  we  are:  —  even  I 

Regained  my  freedom  with  a  sigh. 

BYRON,  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon. 

In  this  passage,  which  is  on  the  whole  conservative  and 
stiff  in  movement,  observe  (i)  how  the  pause  in  the 
middle  of  11.  4,  13,  and  17  helps  to  vary  the  measure; 
(2)  how  many  of  the  verses  end  with  a  logical  as  well  as 
metrical  pause;  (3)  how  in  11.  3,  5, 16,  and  17  the  mean- 
ing runs  over  without  pause  into  the  next  lines;  (4)  how 
the  first  two  couplets  and  the  last  two  are  run  together, 
whereas  the  third  and  fourth  are  both  closed  and  inde- 


METRICAL  FORMS  93 

pendent;  and  (5)  how  at  11.  9  and  10  the  couplet  is 
divided.  This  last  device  is  not  very  frequent  in  the 
practice  of  any  poet  except  Chaucer;  it  is  well  illus- 
trated, however,  in  these  lines  from  Shelley's  With  a 
Guitar  to  Jane: 

All  this  it  knows;  but  will  not  tell 

To  those  that  cannot  question  well 

The  Spirit  that  inhabits  it. 

It  talks  according  to  the  wit 

Of  its  companions;  and  no  more  .  .  . 

Two  other  means  of  varying  the  swing  of  the  short 
couplet  are  to  change  the  order  of  the  rimes  (as  in  the 
example  above  from  Christabel)  or  introduce  a  third 
riming  line  (that  is,  to  use  triplets  with  the  couplets), 
and  to  intermingle  shorter  lines,  as  Coleridge  does  oc- 
casionally in  Christabel,  and  Byron  at  the  beginning  of 
The  Prisoner  of  Chillon: 

My  hair  is  gray,  but  not  with  years, 

Nor  grew  it  white 

In  a  single  night, 
As  men's  have  grown  from  sudden  fears. 

Heroic  Couplet.  The  5-stress  line,  both  rimed  and 
unrimed,  is  the  most  flexible  and  best  adapted  to  all 
kinds  of  subjects  that  English  versification  possesses. 
Its  powers  range  through  the  tragedy  and  comedy^  of 
Shakespeare,  the  dignity  of  the  sonnet,  ancTthe  gran- 
deuj^DflMiltQjTjj^  ir'ojpejind  the  informal 

conversational  verse  of  Mr.  Robert  Frost.  The  4- 
stress  line  js_too  short,  fhe_6-jfrpss  is  foojong  (when  it 
does  not  split  into  two  equal  parts);  the  5-stress  seems 
to  hit  the  golden  average.  It  is  less  inclined  to  '  go  '  by 


94  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

itself,  and  therefore  is  suitable  for  slow  movements; 
on  the  other  hand,  it  is  easily  divided_by_gauses  and 
hence  is  easily  relieved  of  monotony  and  adjustable  to 
almost  all  tempos.1 

The  earliest  form,  historically,  of  the  ^^stress  line  in 
English  was  in  rimed  couplets;  the  first  poet  to  use  the 
rimed  couplet  continuously  (as  distinguished  from  oc- 
casional use  in  a  stanza)  was  Chaucer.2  Blank  verse  is 
a  modificatiorLQf  thgjroupleFTbylFe  simplejomjssion  of 
the  rimes_at  the  end. 

The  history  of  the  heroic  couplet  may  be  divided 
into  two  periods,  that  of  Chaucer  and  his  followers, 
Gavin  Douglas  and  Spenser,  and  that  beginning  with 
Marlowe,  Chapman,  and  other  Elizabethans  and  con- 
tinuing down  to  the  present.  This  division  is  peculiar, 
for  it  represents  a  double  curve  of  development,  the 
one  comparatively  short,  the  other  long.  Chaucer's 
couplet  has  all  the  marks  of  ease  and  Jreedom  of  a 
fully  matured  medium:  great  variety  in  the  pauses, 
ruQ-gnJines  and  Couplets,  and  divided  couplets.  (All 
the  means  of  securing  variety  for  the  short  couplet, 
explained  above,  apply  a  fortiori  to  the  heroic  line.) 
Douglas,  in  large  part,  and  Spenser  pretty  fully, 
adopted  and  preserved  this  unfettered  movement, 
though  the  former  anticipates  here  and  there  the  neat 

1  It  is  no  doubt  significant  that  the  rhythmic  pulses  which  come  most 
naturally  to  us  are  in  twos  and  threes  and  their  multiples;  while  even  to 
beat  time  in  fives  requires  a  special  effort.    In  music  5/8  or  5/4  time  is  ex- 
tremely rare.  There  is  an  example  of  the  latter  in  Chopin's  Sonata  I  (the 
larghetto  movement). 

2  On  the  source  and  origin  of  the  5-stress  couplet  in  English,  au- 
thorities are  in  disagreement.  See  Alden,  English  Verse,  pp.  177  ff.,  and 
the  references  there  given. 


METRICAL  FORMS  95 

balance  of  the  Popian  couplet.  Then  the  measure 
seems  to  have  begun  all  over  again,  partly  on  account 
of  an  attack  of  syllable-counting,  with  close  formal 
recognition  of  the  line  unit  and  the  couplet  unit,  and 
gradually  worked  its  way  back  to  its  original  flexi- 
bility.1 

The  following  characteristic  examples  illustrate  the 
chief  varieties  of  the  couplet.  (Again,  they  should  be 
supplemented  by  the  reading  of  longer  passages. 
Pope's  couplet,  in  particular,  with  its  perfection  of 
form  according  to  a  few  well-marked  formulas,  reveals 
its  great  weakness,  monotony,  only  in  the  consecutive 
reading  of  several  pages.) 

Whan  that  Aprille  with  his  shoures  soote 

The  drought  of  Marche  hath  perced  to  the  roote, 

And  bathed  every  veyne  in  swich  licour, 

Of  which  vertue  engendred  is  the  flour; 

Whan  Zephyrus  eek  with  his  swete  breeth 

Inspired  hath  in  every  holt  and  heeth 

The  tendre  croppes,  and  the  yonge  sonne 

Hath  in  the  Ram  his  halfe  cours  y-ronne, 

And  smale  fowles  maken  melodye, 

That  slepen  al  the  night  with  open  eye, 

So  priketh  hem  nature  in  here  corages; 

Than  longen  folk  to  gon  on  pilgrimages, 

And  palmers  for  to  seken  straunge  strondes, 

To  feme  halwes,  kouthe  in  sondry  londes; 

And  specially,  from  every  shires  ende 

Of  Engelond,  to  Caunterbury  they  wende, 

The  holy  blisful  martir  for  to  seeke, 

That  hem  hath  holpen  whan  that  they  were  seeke. 

CHAUCER,  Canterbury  Tales,  Prologue. 

1  Note  Professor  Woodberry's  praise  of  the  heroic  couplet  for  its 
simple  music,  its  suppleness,  its  power  of  forcing  brevity:  "  the  best  met- 
rical form  which  intelligence,  as  distinct  from  poetical  feeling,  can  em- 
ploy." (Makers  of  Literature,  p.  104.) 


96  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

The  Husbandman  was  meanly  well  content 

Triall  to  make  of  his  endevourment; 

And,  home  him  leading,  lent  to  him  the  charge 

Of  all  his  flocke,  with  libertie  full  large, 

Giving  accompt  of  th'  annuall  increce 

Both  of  their  lambes,  and  of  their  woolly  fleece. 

Thus  is  this  Ape  become  a  shepheard  swaine, 

And  the  false  Foxe  his  dog  (God  give  them  paine!) 

For  ere  the  yeare  have  halfe  his  course  out-run, 

And  doo  returne  from  whence  he  first  begun, 

They  shall  him  make  an  ill  accompt  of  thrift. 

SPENSER,  Mother  Hubbard's  Tale. 

And  in  the  midst  a  silver  altar  stood: 

There  Hero,  sacrificing  turtles'  blood, 

Kneel'd  to  the  ground,  veiling  her  eyelids  close; 

And  modestly  they  open'd  as  she  rose: 

Thence  flew  Love's  arrow  with  the  golden  head; 

And  thus  Leander  was  enamoured. 

Stone-still  he  stood,  and  evermore  he  gaz'd, 

Till  with  the  fire,  that  from  his  countenance  blaz'd, 

Relenting  Hero's  gentle  heart  was  strook: 

Such  force  and  virtue  hath  an  amorous  look. 

It  lies  not  in  our  power  to  love  or  hate, 

For  will  in  us  is  over-rul'd  by  fate. 

MARLOWE,  Hero  and  Leander 

But  when  the  far-off  isle  he  touch'd,  he  went 

Up  from  the  blue  sea  to  the  continent, 

And  reach'd  the  ample  cavern  of  the  Queen, 

Whom  he  found  within;  without  seldom  seen. 

A  sun-like  fire  upon  the  hearth  did  flame; 

The  matter  precious,  and  divine  the  frame; 

Of  cedar  cleft  and  incense  was  the  pile, 

That  breathed  an  odour  round  about  the  isle. 

Herself  was  seated  in  an  inner  room, 

Whom  sweetly  sing  he  heard,  and  at  her  loom, 

About  a  curious  web,  whose  yarn  she  threw 

In  with  a  golden  shuttle.     A  grove  grew 

In  endless  spring  about  her  cavern  round, 

With  odorous  cypress,  pines,  and  poplars  crown'd. 

CHAPMAN,  Odyssey,  V. 


METRICAL  FORMS  97 

Though  Chapman  sometimes  uses  the  pause  and  run- 
on  lines  freely^  the  regularity  of  t)ie  foot  makes  for  a 
certain  stiffness  and  inflexibility. 

She,  she  is  gone;  she's  gone;  when  thou  know'st  this, 

What  fragmentary  rubbish  this  world  is 

Thou  know'st,  and  that  it  is  not  worth  a  thought; 

He  honours  it  too  much  that  thinks  it  nought. 

Think  then,  my  soul,  that  death  is  but  a  groom, 

Which  brings  a  taper  to  the  outward  room, 

Whence  thou  spiest  first  a  little  glimmering  light, 

And  after  brings  it  nearer  to  thy  sight; 

For  such  approaches  doth  heaven  make  in  death. 

DONNE,  Anatomy  of  the  World. 

Donne's  metres  were  notoriously  careless  — or  de- 
liberately irregular^  They  therefore  stand  somewhat 
out  of  place  in  the  general  trend  of  development. 

O  how  I  long  my  careless  limbs  to  lay 

Under  the  plantain's  shade,  and  all  the  day 

With  amorous  airs  my  fancy  entertain; 

Invoke  the  Muses,  and  improve  my  vein! 

No  passion  there  in  my  free  breast  should  move, 

None  but  the  sweet  and  best  of  passions,  love! 

There  while  I  sing,  if  gentle  Love  be  by, 

That  tunes  my  lute,  and  winds  the  strings  so  high; 

With  the  sweet  sound  of  Sacharissa's  name, 

I'll  make  the  list'ning  savages  grow  tame. 

WALLER,  Battle  of  the  Summer  Islands. 

Waller,  though  his  lifetime  (1605-87)  embraces  that  of 
JMWtpjnjJ.s  the  natural  precursor  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury.  His  couplets  are  almost  all  characteristic  of 
eighteenth-century  couplets,  which  seem  to  seek  per- 
fection within  themselves.  The  aim  of  Waller,  Dry  den, 
Pope,  and  Johnson  was  primarily  to  exalt  the_coug>let^ 
and  extract  from  it  all  its  potentialities,  not  to  obscure 


98  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

it  by  varied  pauses  andrun-on  lines.  Waller  was 
praised  by  the  best  critics  of  his  own  and  the  following 
generation  for  the  great  '  sweetness  '  and  smoothness 
of  his  verse. 

Of  these  the  false  Achitophel  was  first; 
A  name  to  all  succeeding  ages  curst: 
For  close  designs  and  crooked  counsels  fit; 
Sagacious,  bold,  and  turbulent  of  wit; 
Restless,  unfix'd  in  principles  and  place; 
In  pow'r  unpleas'd,  impatient  of  disgrace: 
A  fiery  soul  which,  working  out  its  way, 
Fretted  the  pigmy  body  to  decay, 
And  o'er-informed  the  tenement  of  clay. 

DRYDEN,  Absalom  and  Achitophel,  Part  I. 

All  human  things  are  subject  to  decay, 
And,  when  Fate  summons,  monarchs  must  obey. 
This  Flecknoe  found,  who,  like  Augustus,  young 
Was  call'd  to  empire  and  had  govern'd  long; 
In  prose  and  verse  was  own'd,  without  dispute, 
Through  all  the  realms  of  Nonsense  absolute. 
This  aged  prince,  now  flourishing  in  peace 
And  blest  with  issue  of  a  large  increase, 
Worn  out  with  business,  did  at  length  debate 
To  settle  the  succession  of  the  State. 

DRYDEN,  MacFlecknoe. 

It  is  interesting,  from  a  metrical  point  of  view,  to  com- 
pare Chaucer's  couplets  with  Dryden's  where  he  is 
translating  Chaucer,  e.  g.,  in  the  Knight's  Tale  and 
Palamon  and  Arcite. 

Between  1664  and  1678  it  became  the  fashion,  partly 
as  a  reaction  against  the  liberties  of  the  late  Eliza- 
bethan blank  verse,  and  partly  under  French  influence, 
to  write  drama  in  heroic  couplets.  But  the  undertaking 
soon  proved  abortive. 


METRICAL  FORMS  99 

Others  for  Language  all  their  care  express, 

And  value  books,  as  women  men,  for  dress; 

Their  praise  is  still,  —  the  style  is  excellent; 

The  sense,  they  humbly  take  upon  content. 

Words  are  like  leaves;  and  where  they  most  abound, 

Much  fruit  of  sense  beneath  is  rarely  found: 

False  eloquence,  like  the  prismatic  glass, 

Its  gaudy  colours  spreads  on  ev'ry  place; 

The  face  of  nature  we  no  more  survey, 

All  glares  alike,  without  distinction  gay: 

But  true  expression,  like  th'  unchanging  sun, 

Clears  and  improves  whate'er  it  shines  upon; 

It  gilds  all  objects,  but  it  alters  none. 

POPE,  Essay  on  Criticism. 

Meantime  the  Grecians  in  a  ring  beheld 

The  coursers  bounding  o'er  the  dusty  field. 

The  first  who  marked  them  was  the  Cretan  king; 

High  on  a  rising  ground,  above  the  ring, 

The  monarch  sat:  from  whence  with  sure  survey 

He  well  observ'd  the  chief  who  led  the  way, 

And  heard  from  far  his  animating  cries, 

And  saw  the  foremost  steed  with  sharpen 'd  eyes. 

POPE,  Iliad,  XXIII. 

Pope's  couplets  represent  the  acme  of  polish  and 
metrical  dexterity — a  perfect  instrument  for  wit  and 
satireT1  Thus  in  the  mock-heroic  Rape~oT  the  Lock 
tKese  well-modeled  couplets  prove  their  mettle,  but  in 
the  translation  of  Homer  their  fatal  limitations  are 
easily  apparent. 

Sweet  Auburn !  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 
Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  labouring  swain, 
Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayed: 
Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease, 

1  See  Pope's  own  analysis  of  his  system  of  verse  in  a  letter  to  Crom- 
well, November  25,  1710. 


ioo  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please, 
How  often  have  I  loiter'd  o'er  thy  green, 
Where  humble  happiness  endear'd  each  scene! 
How  often  have  I  paus'd  on  every  charm, 
The  shelter'd  cot,  the  cultivated  farm, 
The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill, 
The  decent  church  that  topt  the  neighboring  hill, 
The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made.  .  .  . 

Ill  fares  the  land  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay: 
Princes  and  lords  may  flourish,  or  may  fade; 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made: 
But  a  bold  peasantry,  a  country's  pride, 
When  once  destroy'd,  can  never  be  supplied. 

GOLDSMITH,  The  Deserted  Village. 

The  departure  from  the  petrified  couplet  was  gradual 
and  natural,  and  influenced  greatly  by  the  simpler 
language  and  content  of  the  verses.  These  two  speci- 
mens show  Goldsmith  writing  in  two  manners,  only  a 
few  lines  apart.  Still  freer  are  Cowper's  couplets  in 
his  On  the  Receipt  of  My  Mother's  Picture.  Byron  in 
English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers  (1809)  and 
Crabbe  in  his  earlier  work,  still  practised  the  eight- 
eenth-century couplet  (in  the  Tales  of  the  Hall,  1819, 
Crabbe  varied  it  to  a  considerable  degree),  but  the  new 
spirit  of  the  Romantic  Movement  leavened  all  the 
metrical  forms,  as  it  did  the  themes,  of  poetry.  Com- 
pare the  following  examples. 

One  hope  within  two  wills,  one  will  beneath 
Two  overshadowing  minds,  one  life,  one  death, 
One  heaven,  one  hell,  one  immortality, 
And  one  annihilation. 


METRICAL  FORMS  101 

Woe  is  me! 

The  winged  words  on  which  my  soul  would  pierce 
Into  the  height  of  Love's  rare  universe 
Are  chains  of  lead  around  its  flight  of  fire  — 
I  pant,  I  sink,  I  tremble,  I  expire! 

SHELLEY,  Epipsychidion. 

I  rode  one  evening  with  Count  Maddalo 

Upon  the  bank  of  land  which  breaks  the  flow 

Of  Adria  towards  Venice:  a  bare  strand 

Of  hillocks,  heaped  from  ever-shifting  sand, 

Matted  with  thistles  and  amphibious  weeds 

Such  as  from  earth's  embrace  the  salt  ooze  breeds, 

Is  this;  an  uninhabited  sea-side, 

Which  the  lone  fisher,  when  his  nets  are  dried, 

Abandons.  .  .  .  SHELLEY,  Julian  and  Maddalo. 

'Twas  far  too  strange  and  wonderful  for  sadness; 

Sharpening,  by  degrees,  his  appetite 

To  dive  into  the  deepest.     Dark,  nor  light, 

The  region;  nor  bright,  nor  sombre  wholly, 

But  mingled  up;  a  gleaming  melancholy; 

A  dusky  empire  and  its  diadems; 

One  faint  eternal  eventide  of  gems. 

Aye,  millions  sparkled  on  a  vein  of  gold, 

Along  whose  track  the  prince  quick  footsteps  told, 

With  all  its  lines  abrupt  and  angular. 

KEATS,  Endymion,  II. 

Ay,  happiness 

Awaited  me;  the  way  life  should  be  used 
Was  to  acquire,  and  deeds  like  you  conduced 
To  teach  it  by  a  self-revealment,  deemed 
Life's  very  use,  so  long!     Whatever  seemed 
Progress  to  that,  was  pleasure;  aught  that  stayed 
My  reaching  it  —  no  pleasure.     I  have  laid 
The  ladder  down;  I  climb  not;  still,  aloft 
The  platform  stretches!     Blisses  strong  and  soft, 
I  dared  not  entertain,  elude  me;  yet 
Never  of  what  they  promised  could  I  get 
A  glimpse  till  now!  BROWNING,  Sordello,  III. 


102  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

She  thanked  men,  —  good!  but  thanked 
Somehow  —  I  know  not  how  —  as  if  she  ranked 
My  gift  of  a  nine-hundred-years-old  name 
With  anybody's  gift.    Who'd  stoop  to  blame 
This  sort  of  trifling?    Even  had  you  skill 
In  speech  —  (which  I  have  not)  —  to  make  your  will 
Quite  clear  to  such  an  one,  and  say  .  .  . 

BROWNING,  My  Last  Duchess. 

It  hath  been  seen  and  yet  it  shall  be  seen 

That  out  of  tender  mouths  God's  praise  hath  been 

Made  perfect,  and  with  wood  and  simple  string 

He  hath  played  music  sweet  as  shawm-playing 

To  please  himself  with  softness  of  all  sound; 

And  no  small  thing  but  hath  been  sometime  found 

Full  sweet  of  use,  and  no  such  humbleness 

But  God  hath  bruised  withal  the  sentences 

And  evidence  of  wise  men  witnessing; 

No  leaf  that  is  so  soft  a  hidden  thing 

It  never  shall  get  sight  of  the  great  sun; 

The  strength  of  ten  has  been  the  strength  of  one, 

And  lowliness  has  waxed  imperious. 

SWINBURNE,  St.  Dorothy. 

Three-Line  Stanza 

Stanzas  of  three  lines  riming  aaa  (called  tercets  or 
triplets)  are  not  very  common.  Familiar,  however,  is 
Herrick's  Upon  Julia's  Clothes: 

Whenas  in  silks  my  Julia  goes, 

Then,  then,  methinks,  how  sweetly  flows 

That  liquifaction  of  her  clothes! 

Next,  when  I  cast  mine  eyes,  and  see 
That  brave  vibration  each  way  free; 
O  how  that  glittering  taketh  me! 

Other  examples  are:  Threnos  (in  The  Phoenix  and  the 
Turtle),  Herbert's  Trinity  Sunday,  Quarles'  Shortness 


METRICAL  FORMS  103 

of  Life,  Browning's  A  Toccata  of  Galuppi's,  Tenny- 
son's The  Two  Voices,  Swinburne's  After  a  Reading, 
and  Clear  the  Way;  and  (with  a  simple  refrain) 
Cowper's  To  Mary: 

The  twentieth  year  is  well-nigh  past, 
Since  first  our  sky  was  overcast; 
Ah,  would  that  this  might  be  the  last! 

My  Mary! 

Crashaw's  Wishes  to  his  Supposed  Mistress  rimes 


Tennyson's  'O  Swallow,  Swallow'  in  The  Princess  is 
in  unrimed  triplets. 
On  the  terza  rima  see  below,  page  164. 

Four-Line  Stanza:  Quatrain 

The  most  important  quatrains  are  the  ballad  stanza, 
riming  a4t>3c*&3  or  a4b*a4b*  (the  Common  Measure  of  the 
hymnals),  with  the  related  Long  Measure  riming  abab4 
or  abcb*;  the  In  Memoriam  stanza  abba4]  and  the  ele- 
giac quatrain  abab*.  These  are  often  combined  into 
8-  and  1  2-line  stanzas,  as  abab  bcbc  5  (called  the  Monk's 
Tale  stanza),  abab  cdcd,  etc.,  sometimes  with  alternat- 
ing long  and  short  lines.  And  these,  as  well  as  longer 
stanzas,  are  frequently  varied  by  the  use  of  repetitions 
and  refrains.1 

The  ballad  stanza,  with  its  frequent  variations  of 
internal  rime  and  additional  verses  is  excellently  illus- 
trated by  Coleridge's  Ancient  Mariner.  Similar  is 
Tennyson's  Sir  Galahad,  a  1  2-line  stanza  of  three 

1  For  complete  lists  and  examples  of  all  the  various  stanzaic  forms, 
the  larger  works  of  Alden  and  Schipper  should  be  consulted. 


io4  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

quatrains,  a*b*a*bzcdc*d*efgf*.  Another  common  varia- 
tion is  that  of  Hood's  The  Dream  of  Eugene  Aram, 
Wilde's  Ballad  of  Reading  Gaol,  and  Rossetti's  Blessed 
Damozel,  a*bzc*b*d*b*.  The  musical  roughness  of  the 
old  ballads  should  be  contrasted  with  the  regularized 
modern  imitations,  such  as  Longfellow's  Wreck  of  the 
Hesperus.  Better  imitations  are  Rossetti's  Stratton 
Water  and  The  King's  Tragedy,  Robert  Buchanan's 
Judas  Iscariot,  and  W.  B.  Yeats's  Father  Gilligan. 
Sometimes  a  shorter  quatrain  is  printed  as  a  long 
couplet  and  combined  into  larger  stanzas,  as  in  Mr. 
Alfred  Noyes's  The  Highwayman  (which  has  an  addi- 
tional variation  in  the  inserted  fourth  and  fifth  lines) : 

The  wind  was  a  torrent  of  darkness  among  the  gusty  trees, 
The  moon  was  a  ghostly  galleon  tossed  upon  cloudy  seas, 
The  road  was  a  ribbon  of  moonlight  over  the  purple  moor, 
And  the  highwayman  came  riding  — 

Riding  —  riding  — 
The  highwayman  came  riding,  up  to  the  old  inn  door. 

The  variations  in  Tennyson's  The  Revenge  should  be 
carefully  studied. 

The  ballad  stanza  is  closely  similar  to  the  abab*  and 
abcb*  quatrains,  and  (as  in  the  Sir  Galahad  mentioned 
just  above)  the  two  are  sometimes  united.  All  three 
were  much  used  by  Wordsworth  and  many  minor 
poets  for  lyrics  as  well  as  narratives;  the  result  is  often 
an  undignified  tinkle  that  takes  the  popular  ear  and 
"makes  the  judicious  grieve."  The  stanzaic  unit  is  so 
easily  carried  in  one's  mind  and  so  rapidly  repeats  it- 
self, that  there  is  little  opportunity  for  the  necessary 
pleasing  surprises.  But  that  the  measure  is  capable  of  a 
simple  expressive  music  is  evident  from  such  examples 


METRICAL  FORMS  105 

as  Wordsworth's  'Lucy'  poems.  These  stanzas,  both 
alone  and  doubled  (as  in  To  Mary  in  Heaven),  were 
favorites  with  Burns. 

A  striking  musical  effect  was  obtained  by  Swinburne 
in  Dolores  by  shortening  the  last  line  of  a  double  quat- 
rain: 

Cold  eyelids  that  hide  like  a  jewel 

Hard  eyes  that  grow  soft  for  an  hour; 
The  heavy  white  limbs,  and  the  cruel 
Red  mouth  like  a  venomous  flower; 
When  these  are  gone  by  with  their  glories, 

What  shall  rest  of  thee  then,  what  remain, 
O  mystic  and  sombre  Dolores, 
Our  Lady  of  Pain. 

Similar  interesting  variations  are  Coleridge's  Love, 
aba*bz  and  Wordsworth's  The  Solitary  Reaper. 

The  In  Memoriam  stanza  (abba*}  is  named  after 
Tennyson's  poem  (though  that  was  by  no  means  its 
first  use),  because  Tennyson  gave  it  a  peculiar  melody, 
and,  partly  for  this  reason  and  partly  from  the  length 
and  subject  of  the  poem,  almost  preempted  it  for  ele- 
giac purposes.1  Characteristic  stanzas  metrically  are 
these: 

Calm  and  deep  peace  in  this  wide  air, 
These  leaves  that  redden  to  the  fall; 
And  in  my  heart,  if  calm  at  all, 
If  any  calm,  a  calm  despair. 

And  all  we  met  was  fair  and  good, 

And  all  was  good  that  Time  could  bring, 
And  all  the  secret  of  the  Spring 

Moved  in  the  chambers  of  the  blood. 

1  On  its  origin  and  the  twenty-five  poems  in  it  by  seventeen  different 
poets,  from  Ben  Jonson  to  Clough  and  Rossetti,  before  the  publication  of 
In  Memoriam,  see  E.  P.  Morton  in  Modern  Language  Notes,  24  (1909), 
pp.  67  ff. 


io6  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Now  fades  the  last  long  streak  of  snow, 
Now  burgeons  every  maze  of  quick 
About  the  flowering  squares,  and  thick 

By  ashen  roots  the  violets  blow. 

One  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  stanza  is  the  increased 
emphasis  which  the  rime  of  the  third  verse  receives 
from  its  proximity  to  that  of  the  second;  and  this  is 
noticeable  both  when  there  is  a  logical  pause  after  the 
third  verse  and  when  there  is  none: 

'Thou  makest  thine  appeal  to  me: 
I  bring  to  life,  I  bring  to  death: 
The  spirit  does  but  mean  the  breath: 

I  know  no  more.'     And  he,  shall  he  ... 

I  sometimes  hold  it  half  a  sin 

To  put  in  words  the  grief  I  feel; 

For  words,  like  Nature,  half  reveal 
And  half  conceal  the  Soul  within. 

Run-on  stanzas  are  very  frequent;  especially  remark- 
able is  the  periodic  movement  of  the  four  stanzas  of 
LXXXVI,  leading  up  to  the  last  line  — 
A  hundred  spirits  whisper  '  Peace.' 

"By  the  rhyme-scheme  of  the  quatrain,"  says  Cor- 
son,  "  the  terminal  rhyme-emphasis  of  the  stanza  is  re- 
duced, the  second  and  third  verses  being  the  most 
closely  braced  by  the  rhyme.  The  stanza  is  thus  admir- 
ably adapted  to  the  sweet  continuity  of  flow,  free  from 
abrupt  checks,  demanded  by  the  spiritualized  sorrow 
which  it  bears  along.  Alternate  rhyme  would  have 
wrought  an  entire  change  in  the  tone  of  the  poem.  To 
be  assured  of  this,  one  should  read,  aloud,  of  course,  all 
the  stanzas  whose  first  and  second,  or  third  and  fourth, 


METRICAL  FORMS  107 

verses  admit  of  being  transposed  without  affecting  the 
sense.  By  such  transposition,  the  rhymes  are  made  al- 
ternate, and  the  concluding  rhymes  more  emphatic. 
There  are  as  many  as  ninety-one  such  stanzas.  .  .  . 
The  poem  could  not  have  laid  hold  of  so  many  hearts  as 
it  has,  had  the  rhymes  been  alternate,  even  if  the 
thought-element  had  been  the  same."  :  Examples  for 
this  experiment  are: 

To-night  the  winds  begin  to  rise 

And  roar  from  yonder  dropping  day: 
The  last  read  leaf  is  rolled  away, 

The  rooks  are  blown  about  the  skies.  XV,  I. 

I  hold  it  true,  whate'er  befall; 

I  feel  it  when  I  sorrow  most; 

'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all.  XXVII,  4. 

Compare  the  slightly  different  effect  of  the  same 
stanza  printed  as  two  lines,  in  Wilde's  The  Sphinx: 

The  river-horses  in  the  slime  trumpeted  when  they  saw  him  come 
Odorous  with  Syrian  galbanum  and  smeared  with  spikenard  and 

with  thyme. 

He  came  along  the  river  bank  like  some  tall  galley  argent-sailed, 
He  strode  across  the  waters,  mailed  in  beauty,  and  the  waters 

sank. 

The  name  'elegiac  stanza'  for  the  abab*  quatrain 
comes  apparently  from  its  appropriate  use  by  Gray  in 
the  Elegy  Written  in  a  Country  Churchyard,  but  it  is 
not  altogether  fitting;  for  it  is  simply  the  quatrain 
movement  of  the  English  sonnet,  where  no  lament  is 
intended,  and  it  was  employed  effectively  by  Dryden 
in  his  Annus  Mirabilis,  and  has  been  often  employed 

1  H.  Corson,  Primer  of  English  Verse,  pp.  70  f. 


io8  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

since,  without  elegiac  feeling.  For  examples  see  the 
stanza  from  Gray,  page  55,  and  the  sonnets  on  pages 
129  f.  An  especially  interesting  modification  is  that 
of  Tennyson's  Palace  of  Art,  aWaW. 

Five-Line  Stanza 

Five-line  stanzas  are  formed  in  various  ways,  e.  g., 
aaaba,  aabbay  aabab,  abbba,  ababa,  ababb,  etc.,  in  lines  of 
three,  four,  five,  etc.,  stresses. 

Six-Line  Stanza 

Six-line  stanzas  are  formed  by  similar  combinations; 
the  most  frequent  is  the  quatrain  +  couplet,  called, 
from  Shakespeare's  poem,  the  Venus  and  Adonis 
stanza,  ababcc*  (compare  the  end  of  the  English  sonnet 
and  the  ottava  rima).1  Familiar  examples  are  Words- 
worth's To  a  Skylark  and  his  fine  Laodamia. 

Since  thou  art  dead,  lo!   here  I  prophesy: 
Sorrow  on  love  hereafter  shall  attend: 
It  shall  be  waited  on  with  jealousy, 
Find  sweet  beginning,  but  unsavoury  end; 

Ne'er  settled  equally,  but  high  or  low; 

That  all  love's  pleasure  shall  not  match  his  woe. 

Venus  and  Adonis. 

The  same  rimes  with  4-stress  verses  are  also  com- 
mon,2 for  example,  Wordsworth's 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 

That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 

1  Early  examples  may  be  conveniently  found  in  the  Oxford  Book  of 
English  Verse,  Nos.  75,  96,  102,  108,  172. 

1  For  early  examples  see  again  the  Oxford  Book  of  English  Verse,  Nos. 
74,  140,  182,  184,  187. 


METRICAL  FORMS  109 

A  host,  of  golden  daffodils; 
Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees, 
Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Another  important  6-line  stanza  is  the  tail-rime  or 
rime  couee,  a  stanza  much  used  in  the  Middle  English 
romances  and  chosen  by  Chaucer  for  his  parody,  Sir 
Thopas.  Harry  Bailey,  mine  host  of  the  Canterbury 
pilgrims,  called  it  '  doggerel  rime.'  The  simple  and 
probably  normal  form  is  aa*b*cc*b*  or  aa*b3aa4b3,  which 
to  save  space  in  the  manuscripts  was  written  thus: 

Listeth,  lordes,  in  good  entent,         ^r     •    ,          ,    c     , 
A   j  T       i     11  Or  mirthe  and  or  solas: 

And  I  wol  telle  verrayment 

Al  of  a  knyght  was  fair  and  gent       TT.  .    r*, 

T    ,       -11        j  •  His  name  was  sir  Inopas. 

In  bataille  and  m  tourneyment, 

Variations  are  extremely  common:  the  aaa^ccc4^2  of 
Wordsworth's  To  the  Daisy,  aaaa^ccc^b*  of  Tenny- 
son's Lady  of  Shalott,  aaWcccW  of  S.  F.  Smith's 
America,  aaaWcccW  of  Drayton's  Agincourt,  and  the 
so-called  Burns  stanza,  in  which  Burns  wrote  some 
fifty  poems,  aaaWaW,  e.  g.,  To  a  Mouse  and  Address 
to  the  Deil. 

Seven-Line  Stanza 

The  most  important  y-line  stanza  is  the  rime  royale 
or  Chaucer  (or  Troilus)  stanza,  ababbcc*.  In  the 
Parlement  of  Foules,  the  Man  of  Law's  Tale,  and 
Troilus  and  Criseyde,  Chaucer  made  it  a  splendid 
vehicle  both  for  narrative  and  for  reflective  analysis, 
for  humor,  satire,  description,  and  all  the  gamut  of 
emotions;  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries 
James  I,  Lydgate  and  Hoccleve,  Henryson  and  Dun- 
bar,  and  Skelton,  Hawes  and  Barclay  employed  it, 


i  io  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

largely  in  imitation  of  Chaucer;  Wyatt  used  it  in  his 
Vixi  Puellis  Nuper  Idoneus;  and  Shakespeare  in  The 
Rape  of  Lucrece.  Since  then  it  has  not  proved  attrac- 
tive to  the  poets  —  though  no  reason  for  its  disuse  is 
obvious  —  except  Wordsworth  (in  his  translations  of 
Chaucer)  and  Morris,  Chaucer's  latest  disciple. 

And  by  the  hond  ful  oft  he  wolde  take 
This  Pandarus,  and  into  gardyn  lede, 
And  swich  a  feste,  and  swiche  a  proces  make 
Hym  of  Criseyde,  and  of  hire  wommanhede, 
And  of  hire  beaute,  that,  withouten  drede, 
It  was  an  heven  his  wordes  for  to  here, 
And  thanne  he  wolde  synge  in  this  manere. 

Troilus  and  Criseyde,  Bk.  III. 

So  she,  deep-drenched  in  a  sea  of  care, 
Holds  disputation  with  each  thing  she  views, 
And  to  herself  all  sorrow  doth  compare; 
No  object  but  her  passion's  strength  renews; 
And  as  one  shifts,  another  straight  ensues: 
Sometime  her  grief  is  dumb  and  hath  no  words; 
Sometime  'tis  mad  and  too  much  talk  affords. 

Rape  of  Lucrece. 

Dreamer  of  dreams,  born  out  of  my  due  time, 
Why  should  I  strive  to  set  the  crooked  straight? 
Let  it  suffice  me  that  my  murmuring  rhyme 
Beats  with  light  wing  against  the  ivory  gate, 
Telling  a  tale  not  too  importunate 
To  those  who  in  the  sleepy  region  stay, 
Lulled  by  the  singer  of  an  empty  day. 

MORRIS,  Earthly  Paradise. 

In  comparison  with  the  formality  of  Shakespeare's  and 
the  evenness  of  Morris's,  the  ease  and  smoothness  of 
Chaucer's  stanza  are  striking.  Wyatt's  stanzas  are 
musical  in  their  way. 


METRICAL  FORMS  in 

Eight-Line  Stanza 

Eight-line  stanzas  are  variously  formed  —  chiefly 
by  the  doubling  of  quatrains,  sometimes  with  different 
rimes,  as  ababcdcd,  sometimes  preserving  one  or  an- 
other or  both  rimes,  as  ababbcbc^  abcbdbeb^  ababacac, 
ababababy  etc.  Other  varieties  are  abcdabcd  (Rossetti) 
and  aaabcccb  (tail-rime),  and  aabbccdd. 

One  of  the  commonest  8-line  stanzas  is  that  im- 
ported from  Italy  and  called  ottava  rima,  abababcc.  It 
has  been  charged  with  tediousness,  and  tedious  it  may 
become  if  not  sedulously  varied.  It  was  introduced, 
along  with  so  much  else  from  Italy,  by  Wyatt,  and  was 
then  employed  for  different  purposes  by  Sidney,  Spen- 
ser, Daniel,  and  others.1  At  the  close  of  the  eighteenth 
century  it  enjoyed  a  rebirth.  "It  had  already  been 
used  by  Harrington,  Drayton,  Fairfax  (in  his  trans- 
lation of  Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered),  and  ...  in 
later  times  by  Gay;  and  it  had  even  been  used  by 
Frere's  contemporary,  William  Tennant;  but  to  Frere 
belongs  the  honour  of  giving  it  the  special  character- 
istics which  Byron  afterwards  popularized  in  Beppo 
and  Don  Juan.  .  .  .  Byron,  taking  up  the  stanza  with 
equal  skill  and  greater  genius,  filled  it  with  the  vigour 
of  his  personality,  and  made  it  a  measure  of  his  own, 
which  it  has  ever  since  been  hazardous  for  inferior 
poets  to  attempt."  2  Byron  had  first  adopted  the 
stanza  in  his  translation  of  Pulci's  Morgante  Mag- 
giore,  which  is  itself  in  ottava  rime.  Beppo  was  written 

1  There  are  two  ottava  rime  in  Lycidas,  one  at  the  close  of  the  Blind 
Mouths  passage  and  one  at  the  end  of  the  poem. 

1  A.  Dobson,  in  Ward's  English  Poets,  vol.  iv,  p.  240. 


ii2  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

in  1817,  and  Don  Juan  begun  in  the  next  year.  In 
1819  the  first  four  cantos  of  Don  Juan  were  published; 
in  1820  Keats  published  his  Isabella,  and  Shelley 
wrote  his  Witch  of  Atlas,  both  in  the  same  metre. 

Those  giant  mountains  inwardly  were  moved, 
But  never  made  an  outward  change  of  place: 
Not  so  the  mountain-giants  —  (as  behoved 
A  more  alert  and  locomotive  race), 
Hearing  a  clatter  which  they  disapproved, 
They  ran  straight  forward  to  besiege  the  place 
With  a  discordant  universal  yell, 
Like  house-dogs  howling  at  a  dinner-bell. 

J.  H.  FRERE,  The  Monks  and  the  Giants. 

To  the  kind  of  reader  of  our  sober  clime 

This  way  of  writing  will  appear  exotic; 
Pulci  was  sire  of  the  half-serious  rhyme, 

Who  sang  when  chivalry  was  more  Quixotic, 
And  revell'd  in  the  fancies  of  the  time, 

True  knights,  chaste  dames,  huge  giants,  kings  despotic, 
But  all  these,  save  the  last,  being  obsolete, 
I  chose  a  modern  subject  as  more  meet. 

BYRON,  Don  Juan,  IV,  vi. 

A  lovely  Lady  garmented  in  light 

From  her  own  beauty:  deep  her  eyes  as  are 

Two  openings  of  unfathomable  night 

Seen  through  a  temple's  cloven  roof;  her  hair 

Dark;  the  dim  brain  whirls  dizzy  with  delight, 
Picturing  her  form.     Her  soft  smiles  shone  afar; 

And  her  low  voice  was  heard  like  love,  and  drew 

All  living  things  towards  this  wonder  new. 

SHELLEY,  The  Witch  of  Atlas. 

Nine-Line  Stanza 

By  far  the  most  important  of  9-line  stanzas,  and 
one  of  the  finest  of  all  stanzas  in  English  poetry,  is  the 
ababbcbcW  invented  by  Spenser  —  a  double  quatrain  of 


METRICAL  FORMS  113 

5-stress  lines  plus  an  alexandrine.  This  particular 
octave  had  been  used  by  Chaucer  in  the  Canterbury 
Tales,  and  is  sometimes  referred  to  as  the  Monk's  Tale 
stanza:  the  stroke  of  metrical  genius  lay  in  adding 
the  *  supplementary  harmony  '  of  the  alexandrine,  by 
which  the  whole  stanza  climbs  to  a  majestic  close  or 
ebbs  in  a  delightful  decrescendo  as  the  poet  wills.1  The 
long  swing  of  nine  verses  on  three  rimes,  with  the  com- 
bined effect  of  the  interwoven  rimes  (abab  and  bcbc) 
united  by  the  couplet  in  the  middle,  culminating  in  the 
unequal  couplet  at  the  close,  the  extraordinary  oppor- 
tunity of  balancing  and  contrasting  the  rime  sounds, 
and  of  almost  infinitely  varying  the  pauses  —  all  these 
render  the  Spenserian  stanza  incomparable  for  nearly 
every  sort  of  poetic  expression. 

After  the  Faerie  Queene,  the  chief  poems  in  this 
metre  are :  Shenstone's  The  Schoolmistress  (1742), 
Thomson's  The  Castle  of  Indolence  (1748),  Burns's 

1  On  the  Spenserian  stanza  see  especially  Corson,  pp.  87  ff.  Lowell's 
characterization  of  Spenser's  use  of  it  is  interesting:  "In  the  alexandrine, 
the  melody  of  one  stanza  seems  forever  longing  and  feeling  forward  after 
that  which  is  to  follow.  ...  In  all  this  there  is  soothingness,  indeed,  but 
no  slumberous  monotony;  for  Spenser  was  no  mere  metrist,  but  a  great 
composer.  By  the  variety  of  his  pauses  —  now  at  the  close  of  the  first  or 
second  foot,  now  of  the  third,  and  again  of  the  fourth  —  he  gives  spirit 
and  energy  to  a  measure  whose  tendency  it  certainly  is  to  become  lan- 
guorous "  (Essay  on  Spenser).  See  also  Mackail's  chapter  on  Spenser  in 
Springs  of  Helicon;  and  Shelley's  praise  in  his  Preface  to  the  Revolt  of 
Islam:  "I  have  adopted  the  stanza  of  Spenser  (a  measure  inexpressibly 
beautiful),  not  because  I  consider  it  a  finer  model  of  poetical  harmony 
than  the  blank  verse  of  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  but  because  in  the  latter 
there  is  no  shelter  for  mediocrity;  you  must  either  succeed  or  fail.  This 
perhaps  an  aspiring  spirit  should  desire.  But  I  was  enticed  also  by  the 
brilliancy  and  magnificence  of  sound  which  a  mind  that  has  been  nour- 
ished upon  musical  thoughts  can  produce  by  a  just  and  harmonious 
arrangement  of  the  pauses  of  this  measure." 


ii4  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  (1786),  Scott's  Don 
Roderick  (1811),  Byron's  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage 
(1818  et  seq.),  Shelley's  Laon  and  Cythna  (The  Revolt 
of  Islam)  (1817,  1818),  and  Adonais  (1821),  Keats's 
Eve  of  St.  Agnes  (1820),  and  the  opening  of  Tenny- 
son's Lotos  Eaters  (1833). 

From  the  following  examples  only  a  limited  concep- 
tion can  be  gained  of  the  stanza's  varied  capabilities. 
Long  passages  should  be  read  together  —  and  read,  for 
this  purpose,  with  more  attention  to  the  sound  than 
to  the  meaning  —  in  order  that  the  peculiarities  of 
handling  of  the  different  poets  may  be  felt. 

A  gentle  Knight  was  pricking  on  the  plaine, 

Ycladd  in  mightie  armes  and  silver  shielde, 

Wherein  old  dints  of  deepe  woundes  did  remaine, 

The  cruell  marks  of  many  a  bloody  fielde; 

Yet  armes  till  that  time  did  he  never  wield. 

His  angry  steede  did  chide  his  foming  bitt, 

As  much  disdayning  to  the  curbe  to  yield: 

Full  jolly  knight  he  seemd,  and  faire  did  sitt, 

As  one  for  knightly  giusts  and  fierce  encounters  fitt. 

Faerie  Queen,  I,  i,  I. 

With  loftie  eyes,  halfe  loth  to  looke  so  lowe, 
She  thancked  them  in  her  disdainefull  wise; 
Ne  other  grace  vouchsafed  them  to  showe 
Of  Princesse  worthy;  scarse  them  bad  arise. 
Her  Lordes  and  Ladies  all  this  while  devise 
Themselves  to  setten  forth  to  straungers  sight: 
Some  frounce  their  curled  heare  in  courtly  guise; 
Some  prancke  their  ruffes;  and  others  trimly  dight 
Their  gay  attyre;  each  others  greater  pride  does  spight. 

Ibid.,  I,  iv,  14. 

The  whiles  some  one  did  chaunt  this  lovely  lay: 
Ah !  see,  whoso  fayre  thing  doest  faine  to  see, 
In  springing  flowre  the  image  of  thy  day. 


METRICAL  FORMS  115 

Ah!  see  the  Virgin  Rose,  how  sweetly  shee 
Doth  first  peepe  foorth  with  bashfull  modestee, 
That  fairer  seemes  the  lesse  ye  see  her  may. 
Lo!  see  soone  after  how  more  bold  and  free 
Her  bared  bosome  she  doth  broad  display; 
Lo!  see  soone  after  how  she  fades  and  falls  away. 

Faerie  Queen,  II,  xii,  74. 

Or  like  the  hell-borne  Hydra,  which  they  faine 

That  great  Alcides  whilome  overthrew, 

After  that  he  had  labourd  long  in  vaine 

To  crop  his  thousand  heads,  the  which  still  new 

Forth  budded,  and  in  greater  number  grew. 

Such  was  the  fury  of  this  hellish  Beast, 

Whilest  Calidore  him  under  him  downe  threw; 

Who  nathemore  his  heavy  load  releast, 

But  aye,  the  more  he  rag'd,  the  more  his  powre  increast. 

Ibid.,  VI,  xii,  32. 

O  ruthful  scene!  when  from  a  nook  obscure 

His  little  sister  did  his  peril  see: 

All  playful  as  she  sate,  she  grows  demure; 

She  finds  full  soon  her  wonted  spirits  free, 

She  meditates  a  prayer  to  set  him  free: 

Nor  gentle  pardon  could  this  dame  deny 

(If  gentle  pardons  could  with  dames  agree) 

To  her  sad  grief  that  swells  in  either  eye 

And  wrings  her  so  that  all  for  pity  she  could  die. 

SHENSTONE,  The  Schoolmistress. 

And  hither  Morpheus  sent  his  kindest  dreams, 
Raising  a  world  of  gayer  tinct  and  grace; 
O'er  which  were  shadowy  cast  Elysian  gleams, 
That  played,  in  waving  lights,  from  place  to  place, 
And  shed  a  roseate  smile  on  nature's  face. 
Not  Titian's  pencil  e'er  could  so  array, 
So  fleece  with  clouds  the  pure  ethereal  space; 
Ne  could  it  e'er  such  melting  forms  display, 
As  loose  on  flowery  beds  all  languishingly  lay. 

JAMES  THOMSON,  The  Castle  of  Indolence,  I,  xliv. 


ii6  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

The  chearfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face, 

They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide; 

The  sire  turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace, 

The  big  ha'  -Bible,  ance  his  father's  pride: 

His  bonnet  rev'rently  is  laid  aside, 

His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  an'  bare; 

Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care; 

And  '  Let  us  worship  God! '  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 

BURNS,  Cotter's  Saturday  Night. 

Now,  where  the  swift  Rhone  cleaves  his  way  between 

Heights  which  appear  as  lovers  who  have  parted 

In  hate,  whose  mining  depths  so  intervene, 

That  they  can  meet  no  more,  though  broken-hearted; 

Though  in  their  souls,  which  thus  each  other  thwarted, 

Love  was  the  very  root  of  the  fond  rage 

Which  blighted  their  life's  bloom,  and  then  departed: 

Itself  expired,  but  leaving  them  an  age 

Of  years  all  winters,  —  war  within  themselves  to  wage. 

BYRON,  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  III,  xciv. 

(Childe  Harold  begins  with  many  deliberate  imitations 
of  Spenser's  language  and  style,  but  soon  neglects 
them.  Here  perhaps  more  than  in  any  other  metre  the 
tone  and  subject  of  the  poem  determine  the  movement 
of  the  stanza.  The  above  is  but  one  example  of  By- 
ron's great  variety.) 

The  One  remains,  the  many  change  and  pass;^ 
Heaven's  light  forever  shines,  earth's  shadows  fly;  ^"" 
Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-colored  glass,  Qu 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  eternity,  V 
Until  Death  tramples  it  to  fragments.  —  Die,\5 
If  thou  wouldst  be  with  them  that  thou  dost  seek!^ 
Follow  where  all  is  fled!  —  Rome's  azure  sky,^ 
Flowers,  ruins,  statues,  music,  words,  are  weak*'' 
The  glory  they  transfuse  with  fitting  truth  to  speak9* 

SHELLEY,  Adonais,  lii. 


METRICAL  FORMS  117 

The  ancient  Beadsman  heard  the  prelude  soft;  *-* 
And  so  it  chanced,  for  many  a  door  was  wide,    ^* 
From  hurry  to  and  fro.     Soon,  up  aloft,      6^- 
The  silver,  snarling  trumpets  'gan  to  chide:  l/~ 
The  level  chambers,  ready  with  their  pride,  (/"" 
Were  flowing  to  receive  a  thousand  guests \O 
The  carved  angels,  ever  eager-eyed,  LT 
Stared,  where  upon  their  head  the  cornice  rests,fl> 
With  hair  blown  back,  and  wings  put  cross-wise  on  their  breasts. 

KEATS,  Eve  of  St.  Agnes,  iv. 

During  the  earlier  half  of  the  seventeenth  century  a 
small  group  of  poets,  imitating  Spenser  both  in  sub- 
stance and  in  external  manner,  introduced  a  number  of 
stanzas,  some  of  them  not  to  be  admired,  whose  chief 
characteristic  is  the  alexandrine  for  a  last  line  —  e.  g., 
abababcc^c*,  ababcc*>c*,  ababbcc^c*,  and  ababbc^c*  (which 
last  is  that  of  Milton's  On  the  Death  of  a  Fair  Infant, 
The  Passion,  and  the  introduction  to  On  the  Morning 
of  Christ's  Nativity).  Another  modification  is  that  of 
Milton's  Ode  itself,  aazb*cczbWd*.  Matthew  Prior  at- 
tempted to  improve  the  Spenserian  stanza  in  his  Ode 
on  the  Battle  of  Ramillies  by  a  rime  scheme  (suggested 
perhaps  by  the  English  sonnet)  ababcdcdeW  —  of 
which  Dr.  Johnson  says:  "He  has  altered  the  stanza 
of  Spenser,  as  a  house  is  altered  by  building  another 
house  in  its  place  of  a  different  form."  Still  farther 
from  the  Spenserian  original,  but  probably  a  develop- 
ment from  it,  is  Shelley's  To  a  Skylark  ababzb*  (mainly 
in  falling  rhythm);  and  an  extension  of  this  last  is 
Swinburne's  Hertha  (see  above,  page  81)  abaftb*  in 
triple  rising  rhythm. 


ii8  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 


Fourteen-Line  Stanza:  Sonnet 

A  sonnet  is  a  moment's  monument,  — 

Memorial  from  the  Soul's  eternity 

To  one  dead  deathless  hour.    Look  that  it  be, 

Whether  for  lustral  rite  or  dire  portent, 

Of  its  own  arduous  fulness  reverent: 

Carve  it  in  ivory  or  in  ebony, 

As  Day  or  Night  may  rule,  and  let  Time  see 

Its  flowering  crest  impearled  and  orient. 

A  sonnet  is  a  coin:  its  face  reveals 

The  soul,  —  its  converse,  to  what  Power  'tis  due:  — 

Whether  for  tribute  to  the  august  appeals 

Of  Life,  or  dower  in  Love's  high  retinue, 

It  serve;  or,  'mid  the  dark  wharf's  cavernous  breath, 

In  Charon's  palm  it  pay  the  toll  to  Death. 

DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTI. 

The  sonnet  is  a  world,  where  feelings  caught 
In  webs  of  phantasy,  combine  and  fuse 
Their  kindred  elements  'neath  mystic  dews 
Shed  from  the  ether  round  man's  dwelling  wrought; 
Distilling  heart's  content,  star-tragrance  fraught 
With  influences  from  breathing  fires 
Of  heaven  in  everlasting  endless  gyres 
Enfolding  and  encircling  orbs  of  thought. 

JOHN  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS. 

A  sonnet  is  a  wave  of  melody: 
From  heaving  waters  of  the  impassioned  soul 
A  billow  of  tidal  music  one  and  whole 
Flows,  in  the  "octave";  then,  returning  free, 
Its  ebbing  surges  in  the  "sestet"  roll 
Back  to  the  deeps  of  Life's  tumultuous  sea. 

THEODORE  WATTS-DUNTON. 

It  is  the  pure  white  diamond  Dante  brought 
To  Beatrice;  the  sapphire  Laura  wore 
When  Petrarch  cut  it  sparkling  out  of  thought; 
The  ruby  Shakespeare  hewed  from  his  heart's  core; 


METRICAL  FORMS  119 

The  dark,  deep  emerald  that  Rossetti  wrought 
For  his  own  soul,  to  wear  for  evermore. 

EUGENE 


The  only  English  stanza  that  can  be  said  to  rival  the 
Spenserian  in  artistic  merit  is  the  sonnet:  but  the  two 
are  for  very  different  purposes,  the  one  being  nearly 
always  used  in  long,  clearly  connected  series,  generally 
narrative,  the  other  nearly  always  as  an  independent 
poem.  Even  when  sonnets  are  written  in  *  sequences,' 
the  relation  of  the  individual  sonnets  to  each  other  is 
rarely  very  close;  the  unity  of  the  whole  sequence  (as  in 
Rossetti's  House  of  Life,  for  example,  or  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing's Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese)  is  one  merely  of 
general  tone  and  subject.  Some  of  Shakespeare's  son- 
nets are  bound  together  by  an  intimate  unity  like 
stanzas  of  one  poem;  others  are  completely  detached. 
Occasionally  a  poem  is  composed  of  three  or  four  son- 
net-stanzas, as  Leigh  Hunt's  The  Fish,  the  Man,  and 
the  Spirit,  but  even  then  each  sonnet  remains  an  inde- 
pendent whole. 

The  word  '  sonnet,'  borrowed  with  the  metrical 
form  from  Italy  in  the  late  sixteenth  century,2  was  at 
first  used  loosely  for  almost  any  short  poem  on  love  not 
obviously  a  '  song  ';  but  soon  the  term  became  re- 
stricted to  a  poem  of  fourteen  5-stress  iambic  lines 
arranged  according  to  one  of  two  definite  rime  schemes 
or  their  modifications.  These  two  rime  schemes  are 

1  See  also  the  collection  of  Sonnets  on  the  Sonnet,  edited  by  M. 
Russell,  London  and  New  York,  1898. 

1  On  the  origin  of  the  sonnet  in  Italy  (Sicily)  see  the  references  in  Al- 
den's  English  Verse,  p.  267.  Still  a  standard  work  is  C.  Tomlinson's  The 
Sonnet,  London,  1874. 


120  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

the  original  Italian  abba  abba  cde  cde  and  the  English 
abab  cdcd  efef  gg. 

Italian  Sonnet.  The  organization  of  the  subject  mat- 
ter of  an  Italian  sonnet  is  (at  least  theoretically)  as 
fixed  as  that  of  the  rimes.  The  whole  should  aim  to 
convey  without  irrelevant  detail  a  single  thought  or 
feeling.  The  first  quatrain,  abba,  should  introduce  the 
subject;  the  second,  abba,  should  develop  it  to  a  certain 
point,  at  which  a  pause  occurs;  such  is  the  octave.  The 
sestet  continues  in  the  first  tercet,  cde,  the  thought  or 
feeling  in  a  new  direction  or  from  a  new  point  of  view, 
and  in  the  second,  cde,  brings  it  to  a  full  conclusion.1 
The  rime  sounds  of  the  octave  and  those  of  the  sestet 
should  be  harmonious  but  not  closely  similar. 

It  stands  to  reason  that  very  few  poets  have  en- 
slaved themselves  to  such  an  imperious  master  without 
assuming  certain  liberties.  Very  few  sonnets  of  any 
poetic  value  can  be  found  conforming  strictly  to  all 
these  requirements.  But  the  general  purport  of  the 
formal  division  may  be  seen  in  Christina  Rossetti's 
poignant  "  Remember  "  — 

Remember  me  when  I  am  gone  away, 

Gone  far  away  into  the  silent  land; 

When  you  no  more  can  hold  me  by  the  hand, 
Nor  I  half  turn  to  go,  yet  turning  stay. 

1  Elaborate  rules  for  the  sonnet  are  given  by  William  Sharp  in  the 
introduction  to  his  Sonnets  of  the  Century,  and  by  Mark  Pattison  in 
the  introduction  to  his  edition  of  Milton's  sonnets.  There  is  valuable 
matter  in  the  Introduction  of  J.  S.  Smart's  The  Sonnets  of  Milton, 
Glasgow,  1921.  Compare  also  the  'divisioni '  of  Dante's  sonnets  in  the 
Vita  Nuova. 


METRICAL  FORMS  121 

Remember  me  when  no  more  day  by  day 
You  tell  me  of  our  future  that  you  plann'd: 
Only  remember  me;  you  understand 

It  will  be  late  to  counsel  then  or  pray. 

Yet  if  you  should  forget  me  for  a  while 
And  afterwards  remember,  do  not  grieve: 
For  if  the  darkness  and  corruption  leave 

A  vestige  of  the  thoughts  that  once  I  had, 
Better  by  far  you  should  forget  and  smile 
Than  that  you  should  remember  and  be  sad. 

The  first  quatrain  says:  Remember  me  when  I  am  gone 
and  we  can  no  longer  meet  and  part  as  in  life.  The 
second  quatrain  adds:  when  we  can  no  longer  enjoy  the 
companionship  of  mind,  planning  what  might  have 
been.  The  sestet  continues:  Nevertheless,  do  not  let 
the  memory  of  me  become  a  burden,  especially  if  you 
ever  learn  what  was  in  my  living  thoughts. 

Most  sonnet  writers,  while  regarding  the  form  as  in 
the  abstract  something  almost  sacred,  have  felt  free  to 
mould  it  in  some  measure  to  the  immediate  demands  of 
their  subject  —  not  all,  however,  with  the  same  suc- 
cess.1 For  the  sonnet  demands  perfection,  a  single  flaw 
almost  cripples  it;  and  few  have  the  absolute  command 
of  language  necessary  to  forge  a  single  idea  without 
irrelevance  and  without  omission  according  to  so  strict 
a  pattern.  Those  who  are  too  subservient  to  the  form 
weaken  their  poetic  thought;  those  who,  like  Words- 
worth often,  are  inobedient  to  the  form,  produce  a 
poem  which  is  imperfect  because  it  is  neither  a  sonnet 

1  "In  the  production  of  a  sonnet  of  triumphant  success,  heart,  head, 
and  hand  must  be  right."  Corson,  p.  145. 


122  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

nor  not  a  sonnet.  Few  have  come  as  near  the  true 
balance  as  Milton  at  his  best.  "A  hundred  Poets," 
says  Sir  William  Watson, 

A  hundred  Poets  bend  proud  necks  to  bear 
This  yoke,  this  bondage.    He  alone  could  don 

His  badges  of  subjection  with  the  air 
Of  one  who  puts  a  king's  regalia  on. 

And  yet  Milton,  while  preserving  the  rime  scheme, 
generally  disregards  the  thought  divisions,  and  in  half 
of  his  sonnets  has  the  pause,  not  after  the  eighth  line 
but  within  the  ninth.  Commenting  on  this  division 
Wordsworth  says:  "Now  it  has  struck  me,  that  this  is 
not  done  merely  to  gratify  the  ear  by  variety  and  free- 
dom of  sound,  but  also  to  aid  in  giving  that  pervading 
sense  of  intense  unity  in  which  the  excellence  of  the 
sonnet  has  always  seemed  to  me  mainly  to  consist. 
Instead  of  looking  at  this  composition  as  a  piece  of 
architecture,  making  a  whole  out  of  three  parts,  I  have 
been  much  in  the  habit  of  preferring  the  image  of  an 
orbicular  body  —  a  sphere  or  dew-drop." 

Such  a  close  unity  can  easily  be  obtained  from  the 
Italian  sonnet,  as  hundreds  of  examples  prove, — Mil- 
ton's On  his  Blindness  is  a  striking  case,  with  no  full 
stop  until  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  line, — but  even 
better  for  this  object  is  the  rime  scheme  invented  by 
Spenser  and  used  in  a  hundred  and  twenty-one  son- 
nets: ababbcbccdcdee.  The  Spenserian  sonnet,  however, 
has  found  no  favor  with  later  poets. 

Certain  variations  in  the  Italian  form  are  regularly 
admitted  as  legitimate.  The  quatrains  must  always 
rime  abba>  but  the  sestet  may  rime  cdecde  or  cdcdcd  or 


METRICAL  FORMS  123 

cdedce  or  cdedec,  or  almost  any  arrangement  of  two  or 
three  rimes  which  does  not  end  in  a  couplet.  And  even 
this  last  caveat  is  sometimes  disregarded  by  careful 
sonneteers.  A  greater  liberty  is  to  vary  the  rimes  of  the 
octave  to  abbaacca.  The  division  of  the  sestet  into  two 
distinct  tercets  is  very  rarely  maintained;  and  that  of 
the  octave  into  quatrains  is  frequently  neglected  with 
impunity.  Thus  the  poet  adjusts  his  theme  to  the 
strict  rules  of  the  sonnet  much  as  he  adjusts  the  natural 
rhythm  of  language  to  the  strict  forms  of  metre;  the 
one  inescapable  requisite  being  that  in  neither  may  he 
lose  hold  of  the  fundamental  pattern.  But  there  is  this 
difference,  that  the  sonnet  form  is  extraordinarily  firm, 
and  breaks  if  forced  very  far  from  normal.  How  far  one 
may  go  can  be  determined  only  in  special  cases,  for 
"the  mighty  masters  are  a  law  unto  themselves,  and 
the  validity  of  their  legislation  will  be  attested  and 
held  against  all  comers  by  the  splendour  of  an  unchal- 
lengeable success  "  (Pattison). 

The  early  Italian  sonnets  in  English,  those  of  Wyatt, 
Surrey,  and  Sidney,  are 'very  irregular:  Sidney's  nearly 
always  end  in  a  couplet  and  rime  the  octave  abbaabba 
or  abababab  or  ababbaba.  Sometimes  he  uses  such  a 
scheme  as  ababbababccbcc.  Wyatt  has  one  rimed 
abbaaccacddcee,  and  Surrey  one  ababababababaa. 

Donne's  Holy  Sonnets  (written  about  1617,  though 
not  printed  till  1633,  1635)  were  regular  in  form,  and 
were  practically  the  first  English  sonnets  not  concerned 
with  love.  Milton  followed  this  tradition,  and  ex- 
panded it  to  further  themes  —  his  only  successful 
poems  in  lighter  mood  are  sonnets  —  occasional  and 
political  subjects  — 


104  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

...  in  his  hand 

The  thing  became  a  trumpet,  whence  he  blew 
Soul-animating  strains  —  alas,  too  few! 

On  the  formal  side  Milton  handled  the  sonnet,  as  has 
been  said,  with  the  freedom  of  a  master. 

From  the  time  of  Milton's  (1642-58)  very  few  son- 
nets were  written  in  England  till  towards  the  end  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  Then  the  form  was  revived,  under 
the  original  impulse  of  the  Wartons  in  the  mid-cen- 
tury, by  Bowles,  and  given  a  new  life  by  Wordsworth 
and  Keats.  In  1850  Mrs.  Browning  published  her  Son- 
nets from  the  Portuguese,  and  in  1870  and  1881  Ros- 
setti  his  sonnet-sequence,  The  House  of  Life.  The 
latter  contains  on  the  whole  the  truest  representatives 
of  the  Italian  model. 

The  soote  season,  that  bud  and  bloom  forth  brings, 
With  green  hath  clad  the  hill  and  eke  the  vale: 
The  nightingale  with  feathers  new  she  sings; 
The  turtle  to  her  make  hath  told  her  tale. 
Summer  is  come,  for  every  spray  now  springs: 
The  hart  hath  hung  his  old  head  on  the  pale; 
The  buck  in  brake  his  winter  coat  he  flings; 
The  fishes  flete  with  new  repaired  scale. 
The  adder  all  her  slough  away  she  slings; 
The  swift  swallow  pursueth  the  flies  smale; 
The  busy  bee  her  honey  now  she  mings; 
Winter  is  worn  that  was  the  flowers'  bale. 
And  thus  I  see  among  these  pleasant  things 
Each  care  decays,  and  yet  my  sorrow  springs. 

HENRY  HOWARD,  EARL  OF  SURREY. 

With  how  sad  steps,  O  Moon,  thou  climb'st  the  skies! 
How  silently,  and  with  how  wan  a  face! 
What,  may  it  be  that  e'en  in  heavenly  place 
That  busy  archer  his  sharp  arrows  tries! 
Sure,  if  that  long-with-love-acquainted  eyes 


METRICAL  FORMS  125 

Can  judge  of  love,  thou  feel'st  a  lover's  case, 
I  read  it  in  thy  looks;  thy  languish'd  grace, 
To  me,  that  feel  the  like,  thy  state  descries. 
Then,  e'en  of  fellowship,  O  Moon,  tell  me, 
Is  constant  love  deem'd  there  but  want  of  wit? 
Are  beauties  there  as  proud  as  here  they  be? 
Do  they  above  love  to  be  loved,  and  yet 
Those  lovers  scorn  whom  that  love  doth  possess? 
Do  they  call  virtue  there,  ungratefulness? 

SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY,  Astrophel  and  Stella,  xxxi. 

Death,  be  not  proud,  though  some  have  called  thee 

Mighty  and  dreadful,  for  thou  art  not  so: 

For  those  whom  thou  think'st  thou  dost  overthrow 

Die  not,  poor  Death;  nor  yet  canst  thou  kill  me. 

From  Rest  and  Sleep,  which  but  thy  picture  be, 

Much  pleasure,  then  from  thee  much  more  must  flow; 

And  soonest  our  best  men  with  thee  do  go  — 

Rest  of  their  bones  and  souls'  delivery! 

Thou'rt  slave  to  fate,  chance,  kings,  and  desperate  men, 

And  dost  with  poison,  war,  and  sickness  dwell; 

And  poppy  or  charms  can  make  us  sleep  as  well 

And  better  than  thy  stroke.     Why  swell'st  thou  then? 

One  short  sleep  past,  we  wake  eternally, 

And  Death  shall  be  no  more:     Death,  thou  shalt  die! 

JOHN  DONNE. 

Cyriack,  this  three-years-day  these  eyes,  though  clear 

To  outward  view  of  blemish  or  of  spot, 

Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot; 

Not  to  their  idle  orbs  doth  sight  appear 

Of  sun,  or  moon,  or  star,  throughout  the  year, 

Or  man,  or  woman.     Yet  I  argue  not 

Against  Heav'ns  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  one  jot 

Or  heart  or  hope;  but  still  bear  up,  and  steer 

Right  onward.     What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask? 

—  The  conscience,  friend,  to  have  lost  them  overpli'd 

In  liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task, 

Of  which  all  Europe  rings  from  side  to  side. 

This  thought  might  lead  me  through  this  world's  vain  mask, 

Content,  though  blind,  had  I  no  better  guide.  MILTON. 


126  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Earth  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair: 
Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 
A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty: 
This  City  now  doth  like  a  garment  wear 
The  beauty  of  the  morning;  silent,  bare, 
Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie 
Open  unto  the  fields,  and  to  the  sky; 
All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air. 
Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 
In  his  first  splendour  valley,  rock,  or  hill; 
Ne'er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep! 
The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will: 
Dear  God!  the  very  houses  seem  asleep; 
And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still! 

WORDSWORTH,  Upon  Westminster  Bridge. 

Go  from  me.    Yet  I  feel  that  I  shall  stand 
Henceforward  in  thy  shadow.    Nevermore 
Alone  upon  the  threshold  of  my  door 
Of  individual  life  shall  I  command 
The  uses  of  my  soul,  nor  lift  my  hand 
Serenely  in  the  sunshine  as  before, 
Without  the  sense  of  that  which  I  forbore  — 
Thy  touch  upon  the  palm.     The  widest  land 
Doom  takes  to  part  us,  leaves  thy  heart  in  mine 
With  pulses  that  beat  double.    What  I  do 
And  what  I  dream  include  thee,  as  the  wine 
Must  taste  of  its  own  grapes.     And  when  I  sue 
God  for  myself,  He  hears  that  name  of  thine, 
And  sees  within  my  eyes  the  tears  of  two. 

E.  B.  BROWNING,  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese. 

Of  Adam's  first  wife,  Lilith,  it  is  told 

(The  witch  he  loved  before  the  gift  of  Eve), 

That,  ere  the  snake's,  her  sweet  tongue  could  deceive, 

And  her  enchanted  hair  was  the  first  gold. 

And  still  she  sits,  young  while  the  earth  is  old, 

And,  subtly  of  herself  contemplative, 

Draws  men  to  watch  the  bright  web  she  can  weave, 

Till  heart  and  body  and  life  are  in  its  hold. 

The  rose  and  poppy  are  her  flowers:  for  where 


METRICAL  FORMS  127 

Is  he  not  found,  O  Lilith!  whom  shed  scent 
And  soft-shed  kisses  and  soft  sleep  shall  snare? 
Lo!  as  that  youth's  eyes  burned  at  thine,  so  went 
Thy  spell  through  him,  and  left  his  straight  neck  bent, 
And  round  his  heart  one  strangling  golden  hair. 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI,  Body's  Beauty. 

I  met  a  traveler  from  an  antique  land, 
Who  said:     Two  vast  and  trunkless  legs  of  stone 
Stand  in  the  desert.     Near  them  on  the  sand, 
Half  sunk,  a  shatter'd  visage  lies,  whose  frown 
And  wrinkled  lip  and  sneer  of  cold  command 
Tell  that  its  sculptor  well  those  passions  read 
Which  yet  survive,  stamp'd  on  these  lifeless  things, 
The  hand  that  mock'd  them  and  the  heart  that  fed; 
And  on  the  pedestal  these  words  appear: 
"My  name  is  Ozymandias,  king  of  kings: 
Look  on  my  works,  ye  mighty,  and  despair!" 
Nothing  beside  remains.     Round  the  decay 
Of  that  colossal  wreck,  boundless  and  bare, 
The  lone  and  level  sands  stretch  far  away. 

SHELLEY,  Ozymandias. 

Here  the  rime  scheme  is  peculiarly  irregular,  and  the 
result  is  hardly  a  sonnet  at  all.  Shelley's  manuscript 
shows  that  the  poem  cost  him  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 

English  Sonnet.  Out  of  the  '  irregularities '  and  ex- 
periments of  the  early  English  sonneteers  there  rapidly 
developed  a  new  form  based  on  an  entirely  different 
principle  of  division,  a  series  of  three  quatrains  abab, 
cdcd,  efefy  followed  by  a  couplet  gg.  This  looser  struc- 
ture, simpler  in  music  and  in  arrangement  of  subject 
matter,  soon  became  a  favorite,  was  used  by  Surrey 
and  by  Sidney,  and  was  adopted  by  Shakespeare  for 
his  hundred  and  fifty-four  sonnets 1  —  hence  it  is 

1  Two  of  these  are  irregular,  the  ggth,  with  fifteen  lines  (ababacdcde- 
Jefgg)  and  the  I26th  with  twelve  (aabbccddeefj).  Milton's  On  the  Admir- 


128  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

sometimes  called  the  Shakespearian  sonnet.  "With 
this  key,"  said  Wordsworth, 

Shakespeare  unlocked  his  heart. 

But  a  sonnet  in  the  stricter  sense  this  1 4-line  stanza 
of  course  is  not;  for  it  does  not  aim  to  possess  the 
balance,  contrast,  and  functional  organization  of  the 
Italian  stanza.  It  has  qualities  of  its  own,  however, 
which  give  it  its  own  distinction;  and,  moreover,  it  is 
frankly  what  many  sonnets  of  the  stricter  form,  with- 
out the  justification  of  a  difficult  and  definitely  organic 
structure,  are:  simply  a  poem  of  fourteen  lines.  For 
many  of  Wordsworth's  and  most  of  Mrs.  Browning's 
sonnets,  though  they  have  the  rime-scheme  of  the 
Italian,  have  the  simple  thought  arrangement  of  the 
English  sonnet. 

Not  many  examples  are  necessary.  Some,  like  the 
first  two  below,  preserve  the  metrical  division  of  the 
quatrains,  with  the  couplet  for  an  epigrammatic  sum- 
mary; others  more  or  less  obscure  the  division. 

Combinations  of  the  two  sonnet  forms  not  infre- 
quently occur  (as  in  the  last  example  below),  but  they 
are  not  approved  by  the  critics  or  the  theorists,  and 
generally  they  miss  the  excellences  of  both  forms,  how- 
ever successful  they  may  be  in  other  respects. 

Leave  me,  O  Love,  which  reachest  but  to  dust, 
And  thou,  my  mind,  aspire  to  higher  things! 
Grow  rich  in  that  which  never  taketh  rust: 

able  Dramatick  Poet,  W.  Shakespear,  still  traditionally  miscalled  a  son- 
net, resembles  the  latter,  with  its  aabbccddeejjgghh  or  eight  couplets.  The 
i6-line  stanza  of  Meredith's  Modern  Love  (abbacddcejfeghhg)  is  some- 
times loosely  called  a  sonnet. 


METRICAL  FORMS  129 

Whatever  fades,  but  fading  pleasure  brings. 

Draw  in  thy  beams,  and  humble  all  thy  might 

To  that  sweet  yoke  where  lasting  freedoms  be; 

Which  breaks  the  clouds  and  opens  forth  the  light 

That  doth  both  shine  and  give  us  sight  to  see. 

O  take  fast  hold!  let  that  light  be  thy  guide 

In  this  small  course  which  birth  draws  out  to  death, 

And  think  how  evil  becometh  him  to  slide 

Who  seeketh  Heaven,  and  comes  of  heavenly  breath. 

Then  farewell,  world!  thy  uttermost  I  see: 

Eternal  Love,  maintain  thy  life  in  me! 

SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY. 

That  time  of  year  thou  may'st  in  me  behold 

When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few,  do  hang 

Upon  those  boughs  that  shake  against  the  cold  — 

Bare  ruined  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 

In  me  thou  see'st  the  twilight  of  such  day 

As  after  sunset  fadeth  in  the  west, 

Which  by  and  by  black  night  doth  take  away, 

Death's  second  self,  that  seals  up  all  in  rest. 

In  me  thou  see'st  the  glowing  of  such  fire 

That  on  the  ashes  of  his  youth  doth  lie, 

As  the  death-bed  whereon  it  must  expire, 

Consumed  with  that  which  it  was  nourished  by. 

This  thou  perceiv'st,  which  makes  thy  love  more  strong 

To  love  that  well  which  thou  must  leave  ere  long. 

SHAKESPEARE,  Sonnet  73. 

Poor  soul,  the  centre  of  my  sinful  earth, 
Pressed  by  these  rebel  powers  that  thee  array, 
Why  dost  thou  pine  within  and  suffer  dearth, 
Painting  thy  outward  walls  so  costly  gay? 
Why  so  large  cost,  having  so  short  a  lease, 
Dost  thou  upon  thy  fading  mansion  spend? 
Shall  worms,  inheritors  of  this  excess, 
Eat  up  thy  charge?     Is  this  thy  body's  end? 
Then,  soul,  live  thou  upon  thy  servant's  loss, 
And  let  that  pine  to  aggravate  thy  store; 
Buy  terms  divine  in  selling  hours  of  dross; 
Within  be  fed,  without  be  rich  no  more; 


130  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

So  shalt  thou  feed  on  Death,  that  feeds  on  men; 
And  Death  once  dead,  there's  no  more  dying  then. 

SHAKESPEARE,  Sonnet  146. 

When,  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes, 
I  all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  state, 
And  trouble  deaf  heaven  with  my  bootless  cries, 
And  look  upon  myself,  and  curse  my  fate, 
Wishing  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope, 
Featured  like  him,  like  him  with  friends  possessed, 
Desiring  this  man's  art  and  that  man's  scope, 
With  what  I  most  enjoy  contented  least; 
Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despising, 
Haply  I  think  on  thee:  and  then  my  state, 
Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising 
From  sullen  earth,  sings  hymns  at  heaven's  gate: 
For  thy  sweet  love  remembered  such  wealth  brings 
That  then  I  scorn  to  change  my  state  with  kings. 

SHAKESPEARE,  Sonnet  29. 

O  deep  unlovely  brooklet,  moaning  slow 

Through  moorish  fen  in  utter  loneliness! 

The  partridge  cowers  beside  thy  loamy  flow 

In  pulseful  tremor,  when  with  sudden  press 

The  huntsman  fluskers  through  the  rustled  heather. 

In  March  thy  sallow  buds  from  vermeil  shells 

Break  satin-tinted,  downy  as  the  feather 

Of  moss-chat,  that  among  the  purplish  bells 

Breasts  into  fresh  new  life  her  three  unborn. 

The  plover  hovers  o'er  thee,  uttering  clear 

And  mournful-strange  his  human  cry  forlorn. 

While  wearily,  alone,  and  void  of  cheer, 

Thou  guid'st  thy  nameless  waters  from  the  fen, 

To  sleep  unsunned  in  an  untrampled  glen. 

DAVID  GRAY,  To  a  Brooklet. 

If  I  should  die,  think  only  this  of  me: 

That  there's  some  corner  of  a  foreign  field 

That  is  forever  England.    There  shall  be 

In  that  rich  earth  a  richer  dust  concealed; 

A  dust  whom  England  bore,  shaped,  made  aware, 

Gave,  once,  her  flowers  to  love,  her  ways  to  roam, 


METRICAL  FORMS  131 

A  body  of  England's,  breathing  English  air, 

Washed  by  the  rivers,  blest  by  suns  of  home. 

And  think,  this  heart,  all  evil  shed  away, 

A  pulse  in  the  eternal  mind,  no  less 

Gives  somewhere  back  the  thoughts  by  England  given; 

Her  sights  and  sounds;  dreams  happy  as  her  day; 

And  laughter  learnt  of  friends;  and  gentleness, 

In  hearts  at  peace,  under  an  English  heaven. 

RUPERT  BROOKE,  The  Soldier.1 

Complex  Stanzas:  the  Ode 

Besides  the  stanzas  described  above,  which  are  but 
the  most  familiar  or  most  important  of  the  great 
variety  of  regular  English  stanzas,  there  are  others 
which,  because  they  are  peculiarly  constructed  or  not 
regularly  repeated,  may  be  called  Complex.  Such  are, 
for  example,  the  '  trailing  vine  '  stanzas  of  Spenser's 
Prothalamion  (abbaWbcbc^dded^eeffi)  and  Epitha- 
lamion  (ababc*c*dede*e*fggf*f*hh*})  and  also  the  simpler 
ababcde^de*  of  Keats'  Ode  to  a  Nightingale. 

Many  of  these  complex  stanzaic  forms,  moreover, 
belong  in  the  tradition  of  the  so-called  Pindaric  ode, 
imitated  freely  from  the  Greek  choric  odes  of  Pindar. 
The  closer  imitations  are  in  fixed  though  complex 
stanzas  regularly  repeated,  and  are  called  Regular 
Pindarics.  These  have  first  a  strophe  of  undetermined 
length,  then  an  antistrophe  identical  in  structure  with 
the  strophe,  and  then  an  epode,  different  in  structure 
from  the  strophe  and  antistrophe.  The  second  strophe 
and  second  antistrophe  are  identical  metrically  with 
the  first,  the  second  epode  with  the  first  epode;  and  so 
on.  The  best  examples  in  English  are  Ben  Jonson's  On 

1  Quoted  by  permission  of  Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.,  owners  of  the  copy- 
right. 


132  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

the  Death  of  Sir  H.  Morrison,  and  Gray's  Progress  of 
Poesy  and  The  Bard.1 

About  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  Cow- 
ley,  misunderstanding  the  structure  of  Pindar's  verse, 
invented  another  sort  of  Pindaric  ode,  which  is  called 
Irregular  because,  as  he  himself  explained,  "  the  num- 
bers are  various  and  irregular,"  and  there  was  no  for- 
mal stanzaic  repetition.  The  lines  were  long  or  short 
according  as  the  thought-rhythm  demanded  (or  seemed 
to  demand),  and  in  respect  to  arrangement  were  not 
bound  to  any  formal  pattern.  This  freedom,  under 
skilful  control,  may  well  produce  felicitous  results,  but 
when  not  managed  by  poets  of  a  strong  and  sure 
rhythmic  sense  —  as  it  was  not  by  the  many  Cow- 
leyan  imitators  —  it  results  merely  in  metrical  license 
and  amorphousness.  "That  for  which  I  think  this 
inequality  of  number  is  chiefly  to  be  preferred,"  said 
Dr.  Sprat,  the  first  historian  of  the  Royal  Society,  in- 
tending no  sarcasm,  "is  its  affinity  with  prose."  But 
this  argument,  which  is  in  part  also  that  of  the  modern 
free-versifiers,  is  simply  a  confusion  of  two  functions, 
the  verse  function  and  the  prose  function. 

But  before  very  long  Cowley's  invention  found  a  true 
master  in  Dryden,  whose  To  the  Pious  Memory  of  .  . 
Mrs.  Anne  Killigrew  (1686),  Song  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day 
(1687),  and  Alexander's  Feast  (1697)  are  justly  praised 
for  their  '  concerted  music.'  The  example  had  in  fact 
already  been  set  by  a  still  greater  master;  for  Milton 

1  The  rime  scheme  of  the  Progress  of  Poesy  is:  strophe  and  antistrophe 
a*bWa,*cc*dbd*e*e*jy6,  epode  aabb*a*ccdede*jgjgh*h*.  The  formula  is  three 
times  repeated.  Note  the  unusual  arrangement  of  parts  in  Collins'  Ode 
to  Liberty  and  Shelley's  Ode  to  Naples. 


METRICAL  FORMS  133 

with  his  early  experiments  in  unequal  rimed  lines  (On 
Time  and  At  a  Solemn  Music),  his  incomparable  suc- 
cess with  the  irregular  placing  of  rimes  in  Lycidas,  and 
his  choral  effects  both  with  and  without  rime  in  Sam- 
son Agonistes,  had  shown  what  English  could  do  under 
proper  guidance.  Then,  after  Dryden,  the  regular 
Pindarics  of  Gray  and  certain  of  Collins'  Odes  helped 
to  carry  on  the  tradition  down  to  Coleridge's  Dejection, 
Monody  on  the  Death  of  Chatterton,  and  Ode  on  the 
Departing  Year,  and  its  culmination  in  Wordsworth's 
Intimations  of  Immortality  ode  (1807).  After  that, 
both  in  time  and  in  interest,  come  Shelley's  Mont 
Blanc  (1816)  (which  he  himself  described  as  "an  un- 
disciplined overflowing  of  the  soul")  and  Tennyson's 
On  the  Death  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  (1852)  (which 
has  at  least  Tennyson's  almost  unfailing  technical 
dexterity).  The  work  of  Coventry  Patmore  in  this 
kind  of  verse  has  not  been  generally  approved.  This  is 
partly  because  of  the  subjects  on  which  he  wrote  and 
partly  because  of  his  inability  to  compose  lines  of 
haunting  melody  —  perhaps  his  deliberate  avoidance 
of  them.  But  in  certain  poems  like  The  Azalea  and 
The  Toys  the  very  intensity  of  the  feeling  both  creates 
and  sustains  and  in  the  end  justifies  the  '  irregular  ' 
metre. 

3.  BLANK  VERSE 

Perhaps  three-fourths  of  the  greatest  English  poetry 
is  in  the  unrimed  5-stress  line  called  blank  verse  — 
nearly  all  the  Elizafjethan  drama,  Paradise  Lost,  some 
of  the  best  of  Keats  and  Shelley,  Wordsworth's 
Michael,  The  Prelude,  The  Excursion  (the  good  with 


134  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

the  bad!),  Tennyson's  Princess  and  Idylls  (notable 
poems  of  their  age,  though  not  to  be  ranked  with  *  the 
greatest '),  and  Browning's  The  Ring  and  the  Book, 
together  with  most  of  the  dramatic  monologues.  No 
other  metrical  form  has  such  an  interesting  history;  no 
other  form  has  manifested  so  great  a  variety  and  adapt- 
ability for  every  kind  of  poetic  thought  and  feeling. 
These  two  facts  alone — itsjmlkand  its  variety — would 
justify  a  much  fuller  treatment  than  is  possible  here. 
But  it  will  perhaps  be  sufficient  to  follow  rapidly  in  out- 
line the  development  of  blank  verse,  with  illustrations 
of  the  most  significant  stages,  and  then,  in  the  follow- 
ing chapter,  to  devote  more  attention  to  blank  verse 
than  to  rimed  stanzas  in  the  exposition  of  metrical 
harmonies  and  modulations. 

The  idea  of  writing  unrimed  verse  was  no  doubt  the 
most  valuable  result  to  English  poetry  of  the  academic 
attempts,  towards  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  to 
write  classical  verse  in  English.  It  could  be  pointed  out 
triumphantly  that  all  the  splendid  poetry  of  classical 
antiquity  -t-  Homer  and  Lucretius  and  Virgil,  Sappho 
and  Catullus  and  Horace  and  Ovid  —  had  been  inde- 
pendent of  rime;  and  whatever  might  be  the  disagree- 
ment on  quantitative  feet  in  English,  it  was  impossible 
to  deny  that  English  could  successfully  copy  this  ele- 
ment of  the  great  classical  verse  and  recover,  as  Milton 
said,  the  ancient  liberty  "from  the  troublesome  and 
modern  bondage  of  riming." 

The  movement  had  already  begun  in  Italv^with 
Trissino's  Sophonisbe,  written  in  1515,  the  first  mod- 
ern tragedy.  It  reached  England  in  the  middle  of  the 


METRICAL  FORMS  135 

century  with  the  influence  of  the  Italian  Renaissance 
brought  chiefly  by  Wyatt  and  Surrey.  Surrey  trans- 
lated two  books  of  the  JEneid  (II  and  IV)  into  blank 
verse  (published  in  1557);  Sackville  and  Norton 
adopted  it  for  the  first  English  tragedy,  Gorboduc 
(1565);  and  then  Gascoigne  used  it  in  his  Steele  Glas 
(1576)  for  general  didactic  and  satiric  purposes.  Thus 
the  beginning  was  made,  and  it  remained  only  for  the 
new  form  to  justify  itself  by  its  children.  Experiments 
continued,  with  the  first  great  achievement  in  Mar- 
lowe's Tamburlaine  the  Great. 

The  early  examples  show  plainly  both  the  influence 
of  the  parent  couplet  —  for,  as  was  said  above,  blank 
verse  was  written  first  as  the  old  couplet  without  rime 
—  and  the  syllable-counting  principle:  the  line  unit  is 
prominent,  there  are  comparatively  few  run-on  lines  or 
couplets,  and  some  of  Surrey's  verse,  for  example, 
though  it  has  the  ten  syllables  then  regarded  as  neces- 
sary, refuses  to  '  scan  '  according  to  more  recent  prac- 
tice because  the  stresses  are  wholly  irregular.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  often  so  great  a  regularity  in  coin- 
cidence of  natural  rhythm  and  metrical  pattern,  rein- 
forced by  some  awkward  wrenches  of  the  conventional 
order  of  word  and  phrase,  that  the  result  is  unpleas- 
antly stiff"  and  formal. 

The  Greeks'  chieftains  all  irked  with  the  war 

Wherein  they  wasted  had  so  many  years, 

And  oft  repuls'd  by  fatal  destiny, 

A  huge  horse  made,  high  raised  like  a  hill, 

By  the  divine  science  of  Minerva: 

Of  cloven  fir  compacted  were  his  ribs; 

For  their  return  a  feigned  sacrifice: 

The  fame  whereof  so  wander'd  it  at  point. 


136  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

In  the  dark  bulk  they  clos'd  bodies  of  men 
Chosen  by  lot,  and  did  enstuff  by  stealth 
The  hollow  womb  with  armed  soldiers. 

There  stands  in  sight  an  isle,  high  Tenedon, 
Rich,  and  of  fame,  while  Priam's  kingdom  stood; 
Now  but  a  bay,  and  road,  unsure  for  ship. 

SURREY,  Second  Book  of  Virgil's 

This  is  not  so  much  monotonously  regular  as  intoler- 
ably rough  and  unsteady. 

For  cares  of  kings,  that  rule  as  you  have  rul'd, 
For  public  wealth,  and  not  for  private  joy, 
Do  waste  man's  life  and  hasten  crooked  age, 
With  furrowed  face,  and  with  enfeebled  limbs, 
To  draw  on  creeping  death  a  swifter  pace. 
They  two,  yet  young,  shall  bear  the  parted  reign 
With  greater  ease  than  one,  now  old,  alone 
Can  wield  the  whole,  for  whom  much  harder  is 
With  lessened  strength  the  double  weight  to  bear. 

Gorboduc,  Act  I,  sc.  ii. 
The  Nightingale,  whose  happy  noble  hart, 
No  dole  can  daunt,  nor  fearful  force  affright, 
Whose  chereful  voice,  doth  comfort  saddest  wights, 
When  she  hir  self,  hath  little  cause  to  sing, 
Whom  lovers  love,  bicause  she  plaines  their  greves, 
She  wraies  their  woes,  and  yet  relieves  their  payne, 
Whom  worthy  mindes,  alwayes  esteemed  much, 
And  gravest  yeares,  have  not  disdainde  hir  notes: 
(Only  that  king  proud  Tereus  by  his  name 
With  murdring  knife,  did  carve  hir  pleasant  tong, 
To  cover  so,  his  own  foule  filthy  fault) 
This  worthy  bird,  hath  taught  my  weary  Muze, 
To  sing  a  song,  in  spight  of  their  despight, 
Which  work  my  woe,  withouten  cause  or  crime  .  .  . 

The  Steele  Glas. 

Note  here  the  monotonous  pauses,  indicated  by  the 
original  punctuation. 

Marlowe,  inheriting  the  defects  of  his  predecessors, 


METRICAL  FORMS  137 

succeeded,  by  virtue  of  his  "plastic  energy  and  power 
of  harmonious  modulation"  in  recreating  the  measure. 
He  found  it  "monotonous,  monosyllabic,  and  divided 
into  five  feet  of  tolerably  regular  alternate  short  and 
long  [i.  e.,  unstressed  and  stressed].  He  left  it  various 
in  form  and  structure,  sometimes  redundant  by  a  syl- 
lable, sometimes  deficient,  enriched  with  unexpected 
emphases  and  changes  in  the  beat.  He  found  no  se- 
quence or  attempt  at  periods;  one  line  succeeded  an- 
other with  insipid  regularity,  and  all  were  made  after 
the  same  model.  He  grouped  his  verse  according  to  the 
sense,  obeying  an  internal  law  of  melody,  and  allowing 
the  thought  contained  in  his  words  to  dominate  their 
form.  He  did  not  force  his  metre  to  preserve  a  fixed 
and  unalterable  type,  but  suffered  it  to  assume  most 
variable  modulations,  the  whole  beauty  of  which  de- 
pended upon  their  perfect  adaptation  to  the  current  of 
his  ideal."  :  No  metre  responds  so  readily  and  so  com- 
pletely to  a  poet's  endowment  of  genius  as  blank  verse, 
and  hence  the  secret  of  Marlowe's  improvements  over 
his  predecessors  is  his  superior  poetic  gift.  He  seems  to 
have  felt  and  thought  and  written  with  an  enormous 
imaginative  power;  by  making  his  verse  an  organic  ex- 
pression of  this  power  he  achieved  an  almost  new 
medium,  ranging  in  variety  from  the  simplicity  and 
pathos  of — 

Mortimer!  who  talks  of  Mortimer, 

Who  wounds  me  with  the  name  of  Mortimer, 

That  bloody  man? 

1  J.  A.  Symonds,  Blank  Verse,  London,  1895,  P-  23-  (This  little 
volume  contains  a  valuable,  though  incomplete  and  somewhat  extrav- 
agant, summary  of  the  history  of  English  blank  verse.) 


138  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

to  the  "swelling  bombast  of  bragging  blank  verse" 
(Thomas  Nash's  hostile  phrase)  in  Tamburlaine  — 

No!  for  I  shall  not  die. 

See,  where  my  slave,  the  ugly  monster,  Death, 
Shaking  and  quivering,  pale  and  wan  for  fear, 
Stands  aiming  at  me  with  his  murdering  dart, 
Who  flies  away  at  every  glance  I  give, 
And,  when  I  look  away,  comes  stealing  on. 
Villain,  away,  and  hie  thee  to  the  field! 
I  and  mine  army  come  to  load  thy  back 
With  souls  of  thousand  mangled  carcasses. 
Look,  where  he  goes;  but  see,  he  comes  again, 
Because  I  stay:  Techelles,  let  us  march 
And  weary  Death  with  bearing  souls  to  hell. 

Part  II,  Act  V,  sc.  iii. 

But  even  in  Marlowe  the  'mighty  line'  is  still  felt  as 
the  unit.  All  his  volubility,  his  extravagance,  his  pas- 
sion, his  occasional  tenderness  did  but  develop  the  line 
to  its  fullest  possibilities;  the  larger  unit  of  the  long 
harmonious  period  or  '  blank  verse  paragraph  '  is  rare 
and  exceptional  with  him,  though  credit  is  due  him  for 
foreshadowing  this  also: 

Now,  lords,  our  loving  friends  and  countrymen, 
Welcome  to  England  all,  with  prosperous  winds; 
Our  kindest  friends  in  Belgia  have  we  left, 
To  cope  with  friends  at  home;  a  heavy  case 
When  force  to  force  is  knit,  and  sword  and  glaive 
In  civil  broils  make  kin  and  countrymen 
Slaughter  themselves  in  others,  and  their  sides 
With  their  own  weapons  gored. 

Edward  II,  Act  IV,  sc.  iv. 

Shakespeare's  blank  verse  is  the  supreme  manifesta- 
tion of  the  measure  for  dramatic  purposes.  In  his  plays 
it  modulates  and  adapts  itself  to  the  changing  emotions 


METRICAL  FORMS  139 

of  every  speaker,  "  from  merely  colloquial  dialogue  to 
strains  of  impassioned  soliloquy,  from  comic  repartee 
to  tragic  eloquence,  from  terse  epigrams  to  elaborate 
descriptions."  It  is  customary  to  distinguish  three 
'  periods  '  in  Shakespeare's  blank  verse,  corresponding 
closely  to  his  whole  artistic  development:  first,  the 
more  formal,  '  single-moulded  '  line  of  the  early  plays; 
second,  the  perfect  freedom  and  mastery  of  the  great 
tragedies;  and,  third,  the  daring  liberties,  verging  on 
license,  of  the  later  plays.  These  distinctions  have,  of 
course,  no  more  absolute  value  than  all  similar  classi- 
fications of  impalpable  modifications,  but  they  at  least 
suggest  the  underlying  truth  that  Shakespeare  began 
as  a  beginner,  and  then,  having  mastered  the  difficul- 
ties and  subtleties  of  the  form,  treated  it  with  the  easy 
familiarity  of  a  master.  To  illustrate  these  develop- 
ments adequately  would  require  pages  of  quotation; 
but  one  may  compare  the  restricted  movement  of  such 
a  passage  as  this  from  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona 
(III,  i)  - 

Proteus,  I  thank  thee  for  thine  honest  care; 
Which  to  requite,  command  me  while  I  live. 
This  love  of  theirs  myself  have  often  seen, 
Haply  when  they  have  judg'd  me  fast  asleep, 
And  oftentimes  have  purpos'd  to  forbid 
Sir  Valentine  her  company  and  my  court; 
But,  fearing  lest  my  jealous  aim  might  err, 
And  so  unworthily  disgrace  the  man,  — 
A  rashness  that  I  ever  yet  have  shunn'd,  — 
I  gave  him  gentle  looks,  thereby  to  find 
That  which  thyself  hast  now  disclos'd  to  me. 

with  the  fine  modulations,  fitting  exactly  the  nuances 
of  meaning  in  this  from  Hamlet  (III,  iii)  - 


i4o  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

May  one  be  pardon'd  and  retain  the  offence? 
In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world 
Offence's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice, 
And  oft  'tis  seen  the  wicked  prize  itself 
Buys  out  the  law.     But  'tis  not  so  above. 
There  is  no  shuffling,  there  the  action  lies 
In  his  true  nature;  and  we  ourselves  compell'd, 
Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 
To  give  in  evidence.     What  then?    What  rests? 
Try  what  repentance  can.     What  can  it  not? 

or  this  from  King  Lear  (II,  iv)  — 

You  see  me  here,  you  gods,  a  poor  old  man, 

As  full  of  grief  as  age;  wretched  in  both! 

If  it  be  you  that  stirs  these  daughters'  hearts 

Against  their  father,  fool  me  not  so  much 

To  bear  it  tamely;  touch  me  with  noble  anger, 

And  let  not  women's  weapons,  water-drops, 

Stain  my  man's  cheeks. 

and  also  with  the  flowing,  slightly  '  irregular '  lines  of 
this  from  The  Tempest  (II,  i)  - 

But  I  feel  not 

This  deity  in  my  bosom.    Twenty  consciences, 
That  stand  'twixt  me  and  Milan,  candied  be  they 
And  melt  ere  they  molest!    Here  lies  your  brother, 
No  better  than  the  earth  he  lies  upon 
If  he  were  that  which  now  he's  like,  that's  dead; 
Whom  I,  with  this  obedient  steel,  three  inches  of  it, 
Can  lay  to  be  for  ever;  whiles  you,  doing  thus, 
To  the  perpetual  wink  for  aye  might  put 
This  ancient  morsel,  this  Sir  Prudence,  who 
Should  not  upbraid  our  course. 

The  greater  freedom  of  syncopation  and  substitu- 
tion, of  extra  syllables  and  unusual  pauses,  which 
characterizes  Shakespeare's  later  blank  verse,  became 
almost  a  norm  with  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Shirley, 
Ford,  and  the  Jacobean  dramatists.  They  often  carried 


METRICAL  FORMS  141 

freedom  to  the  extreme  limit,  where  an  inch  further 
would  change  verse  into  prose.  They  were  capable,  to 
be  sure,  of  more  careful  regular  verse,  and  wrote  it 
when  the  occasion  seemed  to  call  for  it;  but  partly 
from  choice,  and  partly  no  doubt  from  haste  or  indif- 
ference or  both,  they  made  a  very  free  blank  verse 
their  staple.  Shakespeare  had  alternated  prose  and 
verse  as  the  subject  or  tone  required;  the  later  drama- 
tists seemed  to  seek  a  verse  that  might  be,  in  a  sense, 
midway  between  prose  and  verse.  Thus  they  avoided  a 
necessity  of  frequent  change,  except  a  loosening  or 
tightening  of  the  reins.  To  call  this  verse  decadent  is 
somewhat  unjust.  It  is  in  truth  a  special  form  which 
is  certainly  well  justified  for  certain  subjects  and 
occasions. 

Why  how  darst  thou  meet  me  again  thou  rebel, 

And  knowst  how  thou  hast  used  me  thrice,  thou  rascal? 

Were  there  not  waies  enough  to  fly  my  vengeance, 

No  hole  nor  vaults  to  hide  thee  from  my  fury, 

But  thou  must  meet  me  face  to  face  to  kill  thee? 

I  would  not  seek  thee  to  destroy  thee  willingly, 

But  now  thou  comest  to  invite  me, 

And  comest  upon  me, 

How  like  a  sheep-biting  rogue  taken  i'th'  manner, 

And  ready  for  the  halter  dost  thou  look  now! 

Thou  hast  a  hanging  look  thou  scurvy  thing,  hast  ne'er  a  knife 

Nor  ever  a  string  to  lead  thee  to  Elysium? 

BEAUMONT  and  FLETCHER,  Rule  a  Wife  and  Have  a  Wife,  V,  i. 

By  this  you  find  I  am  to  Millaine  neer 

Ally'd;  but  more  to  tempt  your  fury  on 

My  life,  know  'twas  my  valiant  father  took 

Your  brother  prisoner,  and  presented  him 

Where  he  receiv'd  his  death,  my  father  that 

So  oft  hath  humbled  you  in  war,  and  made 

His  victories  triumph  almost  upon 

The  ruines  of  your  state.        DAVENANT,  Love  and  Honour,  V,  iii. 


142  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

When  Milton  composed  Comus  in  1634  it  was  nat- 
ural for  him  to  model  his  blank  verse  on  the  best  of 
Shakespeare's  and  Ben  Jonson's,  rather  than  on  that  of 
the  contemporary  playwrights;  for  his  finer  taste,  his 
more  delicate  ear,  and  his  classical  training  and  tenden- 
cies would  at  once  lead  him  to  reject  the  metrical  laxi- 
ties of  Ford,  Shirley,  Davenant,and  the  other  writers  of 
'  broken  down  '  blank  verse.  And  though  his  language 
shows  great  familiarity  with  the  later  plays  of  Shake- 
speare, especially  The  Tempest,  he  admitted  compara- 
tively few  of  their  metrical  licenses  and  followed  in 
the  main  the  versification  of  the  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream  and  the  earlier  tragedies.  There  is  generally  a 
tendency  to  make  the  line  the  unit  —  but  the  verse 
paragraph  or  stanza  effect  is  also  present  in  nearly 
fully  developed  form,  as  witness  the  opening  lines  of 
the  poem  —  weak  or  feminine  endings  are  not  fre- 
quent, alexandrines  very  few.  The  '  short  fit  of  rhym- 
ing '  (11.  495  ff.),  disapproved  by  Dr.  Johnson,  would 
be  explained  partly  by  the  tradition  of  the  masque  and 
partly  by  the  model  of  Shakespeare's  comedies. 

But  the  great  Mil  tonic  blank  verse  of  Paradise  Lost 
is  not  a  copy  of  any  master;  it  is  a  development  and  a 
consummation  of  two  influences,  the  slow  maturity  of 
Milton's  mind,  deepened  and  broadened  by  the  Com- 
monwealth controversies  "not  without  dust  and  heat," 
and  the  exalted  sublimity  of  the  yet  unattempted 
theme  of  justifying  God's  management  of  human  and 
divine  affairs.  His  maturity  brought  him  his  great 
familiarity  both  in  matter  and  in  style  with  nearly  all 
that  was  best  in  European  literature,  and  his  peculiar 


METRICAL  FORMS  143 

subject,  with  only  gods  and  angels  (Adam  and  Eve 
are  scarcely  human,  even  after  the  fall)  for  charac- 
ters and  selected  portions  of  eternity  and  infinity  for 
time  and  place,  gave  him  the  tendency  to  artificiality 
and  strain  to  the  outmost  verges  of  sublimity,  and  to  ex- 
traordinary involution  of  phrase  and  idea  —  for  all  of 
which  he  must  have  a  suitable  prosody.  He  chose 
blank  verse  when  the  poetical  fashion  was  for  rime  and 
described  it,  in  words  not  altogether  clear,  as  consist- 
ing "only  in  apt  numbers,  fit  quantity  of  syllables,  and 
the  sense  variously  drawn  out  from  one  verse  to  an- 
other." 1  Apt  numbers,  that  is,  appropriate  rhythms, 
Milton's  verse  certainly  has;  but  it  is  the  last  item,  the 
great  variety  of  movements  subordinating  the  line- 
unit,  and  running-on  of  verses  into  longer  periods,  for 
which  his  blank  verse  is  famous.  Every  page  of  Para- 
dise Lost  contains  examples;  some  of  the  finest  occur  in 
the  rhetorical  display  of  the  Pandemonic  Council  in 
Book  II.  Note  the  position  of  the  pauses  in  the  follow- 
ing passage,  and  then  compare  the  specimens  of  early 
blank  verse  given  above. 

Or  could  we  break  our  way 
By  force,  and  at  our  heels  all  hell  should  rise 
With  blackest  insurrection,  to  confound 

1  The  main  crux  of  this  passage  is  "fit  quantity  of  syllables."  Quan- 
tity in  such  a  context  suggests  syllabic  length;  and  one  recalls  the  sonnet 
to  Lawes  — 

not  to  scan 

With  Midas'  ears,  committing  short  and  long. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Robert  Bridges  has  made  it  almost  if  not 
quite  certain  that  Milton  counted  syllables,  and  therefore  the  phrase 
would  mean  "ten  syllables  to  a  line,"  proper  allowance  being  made  for 
elision.  Since  both  interpretations  agree  pretty  well  with  Milton's  prac- 
tice, one  cannot  be  sure  which  he  had  in  mind. 


144  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Heaven's  purest  light,  yet  our  great  enemy 

All  incorruptible  would  on  his  throne 

Sit  unpolluted,  and  the  ethereal  mould 

Incapable  of  stain  would  soon  expel 

Her  mischief,  and  purge  off  the  baser  fire, 

Victorious.  II,  134-142. 

On  its  formal  side,  what  makes  Milton's  versification  as  unique 
as  it  is  admirable,  is  the  instinctive  and  yet  prescient  skill  with 
which  the  pause  is  continuously  varied  so  as  to  keep  the  whole 
metrical  structure  in  movement.  There  are  no  dead  lines.  There 
are  no  jerks  or  stoppages.  His  movement  may  best  be  described 
by  quoting  a  passage  which,  like  many  others,  is  at  once  a  descrip- 
tion and  an  instance.  It  is  a 

Mystical  dance,  which  yonder  starry  sphere 
Of  planets  and  of  fixt  in  all  her  wheels 
Resembles  nearest,  mazes  intricate, 
Eccentric,  intervolv'd,  yet  regular 
Then  most,  when  most  irregular  they  seem, 
And  in  their  motions  harmony  divine. 

I  ask  the  reader  most  particularly  to  notice  that  these  six  lines, 
like  almost  any  short  quotation  that  can  be  made  from  the  poem, 
are  broken  from  their  context.  They  begin  in  the  middle  of  a 
sentence,  and  end  in  the  middle  of  a  clause.  The  continuous 
periodic  movement  cannot  be  really  shown  by  examples,  just  be- 
cause it  is  continuous  and  periodic.  If  we  except  the  speeches, 
each  of  which  by  the  necessity  of  the  case  is  more  or  less  a  definite 
and  detachable  unit,  the  periods  flow  into  one  another.  Like  the 
orbit  of  a  planet,  the  movement  of  the  verse  never  closes  its 
ellipse  and  begins  again.  Each  of  the  twelve  books  is  a  single  or- 
ganic rhythmical  structure.  But  one  cannot  very  well  quote  a 
whole  book. 

Within  that  structure,  the  variation  of  pause  and  stress  is 
similarly  in  continuous  movement.  As  a  general  fact,  this  is  in- 
stinctively felt  in  reading  the  poem;  how  rigorously  the  law  of 
freedom  is  observed  comes  out  even  more  surprisingly  when 
brought  to  the  test  of  figures.  For  movement  of  stress  one  in- 
stance may  serve  as  a  typical  example.  In  Michael's  description 
of  the  plagues  of  Egypt  in  the  twelfth  book,  beginning  — 


METRICAL  FORMS  145 

But  first  the  lawless  tyrant,  who  denies 

To  know  their  God,  or  message  to  regard, 

Must  be  compelled  by  signs  and  judgments  dire  — 

the  detailed  roll  of  the  plagues  is  all  threaded  on  the  word  must. 
It  recurs  nine  times,  with  studied  and  intricate  variation  of  its 
place  in  the  line:  this  is,  taken  by  order,  in  the  first,  eighth,  fifth, 
fourth,  fifth,  fifth,  first,  third,  and  fourth  syllable.  Again,  as  re- 
gards variation,  in  the  whole  ten  thousand  lines  of  the  Paradise 
Lost  there  are  less  than  five-and-twenty  instances  of  the  pause 
coming  at  the  same  point  in  the  line  for  more  than  two  lines  con- 
secutively. Facts  like  these  are  the  formal  index  of  what  is  the 
great  organic  principle  of  Milton's  verse.  That  is,  that  like  all  or- 
ganic structures,  it  is  incalculable;  it  cannot  be  reduced  to  a 
formula.  .  .  .  His  rhythm  is  perpetually  integrating  as  it  ad- 
vances; and  not  only  so,  but  at  no  point  can  its  next  movement  be 
predicted,  although  tracing  it  backwards  we  can  see  how  each 
phrase  rises  out  of  and  carries  on  the  rhythm  of  what  was  before 
it,  how  each  comes  in  not  only  rightly,  but  as  it  seems  inevitably. 
This  secret  he  inherited  from  no  English  predecessor  and  trans- 
mitted to  no  follower.1 

One  may  surely  say  that  Milton  extracted  from 
blank  verse  all  its  possibilities  of  variety  and  movement 
so  far  as  his  subject  matter  permitted.  He  is  lyrical, 
dramatic,  didactic,  and  of  course  epic,  in  turn.  He 
even  showed  that  it  is  possible  to  imitate  hollowly  his 
own  "planetary  wheelings"  —as  though  the  instru- 
ments kept  on  playing  and  the  music  ceased.2 

Since  Paradise  Regained  and  Samson  Agonistes, 
though  various  poets  have  adapted  it  to  their  own 
uses,  blank  verse  has  shown  only  one  significant  de- 
velopment, the  conversational,  or  so-called  *  talking,' 
style.  In  the  eighteenth  century  Milton's  mannerisms 

1  J.  W.  Mackail,  The  Springs  of  Helicon,  pp.  181  ff. 

2  Cf.,  for  example.  Paradise  Regained,  III,  68  ff. 


146  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

dominated  nearly  all  blank  verse,  both  for  good  and  for 
evil.  What  freedom  Thomson  allowed  himself  he  got 
from  Milton;  most  of  Cowper's  thin  grandiosity  he 
took  from  Milton;  and  much  also  of  Wordsworth's 
false  and  empty  elaboration  which  make  the  Prelude 
and  Excursion  so  dull  in  places  —  the  whole  tribe  of 
verses  of  which 

And  at  the  Hoop  alighted,  famous  inn 

is  the  pilloried  example  —  came  from  the  Miltonic 
tradition.  Keats  fell  partially  into  the  error,  but  was 
wise  enough  to  recognize  it.  Shelley,  with  much  of  Mil- 
ton's intensity  and  somewhat  too  of  his  sublimity, 
could  successfully  follow  the  great  stride  and  at  the 
same  time  preserve  his  own  idiom.  Tennyson,  keeping 
both  the  freedom  and  as  much  of  the  "continuous 
planetary  movement"  as  was  consistent  with  his 
themes,  softened  the  metre  —  weakened  it,  some  will 
say  —  by  his  decorative  tendency  and  indulgence  in 
only  half-concealed  virtuosity.1  And  the  famous  Oxus 
ending  of  Arnold's  Sohrab  and  Rustum  is  a  studied  re- 
production of  the  Miltonic  music  in  a  lower  key.  But 
it  was  Landor  who,  taking  a  hint  perhaps  from  Milton's 
unadorned  didacticism  of  Paradise  Regained  and  also 
from  the  straightforward  verse  used  on  occasion  by  the 
Elizabethan  dramatists,  showed  the  way  to  what  has 
often  been  called  a  strictly  contemporary  development 
of  blank  verse,  the  talking  style.  Since  this  is  less 

1  Browning's  blank  verse,  like  all  his  metres,  is  typically  Brown- 
ingesque;  instead  of  moulding  his  verse  to  fit  the  idea  perfectly,  he  too 
often  effected  the  compromise  between  content  and  form  by  slighting  the 
latter. 


METRICAL  FORMS 

familiar  than  most  of  the  phenomena  of  blank  verse, 
it  will  require  fuller  illustration. 

The  uneven  line  which  separates  blank  verse  and 
prose  is  easily  apparent  in  such  a  passage  as  the  follow- 
ing from  Much  Ado  about  Nothing  (V,  i)  — 

Leon.         Some  haste,  my  lord!  —  well,  fare  you  well,  my  lord:  — 
Are  you  so  hasty  now  —  Well,  all  is  one. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good  old  man. 

Ant.  If  he  could  right  himself  with  quarrelling, 

Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 

Claud.  Who  wrongs  him? 

Leon.         Marry,  thou  dost  wrong  me;  thou  dissembler,  thou.  — 
Nay,  never  lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  sword; 
I  fear  thee  not. 

Claud.  Marry,  beshrew  my  hand, 

If  it  should  give  your  age  such  cause  of  fear. 
In  faith,  my  hand  meant  nothing  to  my  sword. 

Leon.         Tush,  tush,  man!  never  fleer  and  jest  at  me; 
I  speak  not  like  a  dotard  nor  a  fool; 
As  under  privilege  of  age,  to  brag 
What  I  have  done  being  young,  or  what  would  do, 
Were  I  not  old.     Know,  Claudio,  to  thy  heed, 
Thou  hast  so  wrong'd  mine  innocent  child  and  me, 
That  I  am  forc'd  to  lay  my  reverence  by, 
And  with  gray  hairs  and  bruise  of  many  days, 
Do  challenge  thee  to  trial  of  a  man.  .  .  . 

In  the  first  part  of  this  passage  the  language  is  the 
simple  natural  expression  of  prose,  yet  so  devised  that 
it  also  fits  the  metrical  pattern.  It  is  either  prose  or 
verse  according  to  the  way  one  reads  it.  But  in  Leon- 
ardo's long  speech  (after  the  first  line,  which  is  '  ir- 
regular ')  the  verse  pattern  becomes  more  and  more 
prominent,  until  in  the  last  three  lines  it  predominates 
over  the  natural  utterance  of  the  words  and  produces 
a  certain  stiftness.  Here  the  two  different  manners 


148  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

stand  side  by  side:  a  natural  simplicity  so  great  that  the 
metrical  quality  is  almost  obscured,  beside  a  formality 
so  obvious  that  the  feeling  of  natural  expression  is 
partly  lost.  Now  Milton,  and  after  him  Dryden  and 
the  eighteenth  century,  regarding  poetry  generally  as  a 
thing  apart,  followed  the  latter  sort;  but  when  the 
Romantic  Revival  brought  poetry  back  to  ordinary 
human  life  there  reappeared,  tentatively,  of  course,  a 
simpler  blank  verse  in  Thomson,  Crabbe,  Cowper,  and 
Wordsworth.  A  clear  example  is  the  opening  of  Lan- 
dor's  Iphigeneia  and  Agamemnon  — 

Iphigeneia,  when  she  heard  her  doom 
At  Aulis,  and  when  all  beside  the  King 
Had  gone  away,  took  his  right  hand,  and  said, 
"O  father!  I  am  young  and  very  happy. 
I  do  not  think  the  pious  Calchas  heard 
Distinctly  what  the  Goddess  spake.    Old-age 
Obscures  the  senses.     If  my  nurse,  who  knew 
My  voice  so  well,  sometimes  misunderstood 
While  I  was  resting  on  her  knee  both  arms 
And  hitting  it  to  make  her  mind  my  words, 
And  looking  in  her  face,  and  she  in  mine, 
Might  he  not  also  hear  one  word  amiss, 
Spoken  from  so  far  off,  even  from  Olympus?" 

Again,  compare  Mrs.  Browning's  Aurora  Leigh  — 

As  it  was,  indeed, 

I  felt  a  mother-want  about  the  world, 
And  still  went  seeking,  like  a  bleating  lamb 
Left  out  at  night,  in  shutting  up  the  fold,  — 
As  restless  as  a  nest-deserted  bird 

Grown  chill  through  something  being  away,  though  what 
It  knows  not.     I,  Aurora  Leigh,  was  born 
To  make  my  father  sadder,  and  myself 
Not  overjoyous,  truly.     Women  know 
The  way  to  rear  up  children  (to  be  just), 


METRICAL  FORMS  149 

They  know  a  simple,  merry,  tender  knack 
Of  tying  sashes,  fitting  baby-shoes, 
And  stringing  pretty  words  that  make  no  sense, 
And  kissing  full  sense  into  empty  words. 

These  are  from  the  metrical  point  of  view  nearly  iden- 
tical with  Mr.  Robert  Frost's  talking  verse,  so  often 
called  a  '  contribution '  to  verse  technique  — 

Something  there  is  that  doesn't  love  a  wall, 

That  sends  the  frozen  ground-swell  under  it, 

And  spills  the  upper  boulders  in  the  sun; 

And  makes  gaps  even  two  can  pass  abreast. 

The  work  of  hunters  is  another  thing: 

I  have  come  after  them  and  made  repair 

Where  they  have  left  not  one  stone  on  stone, 

But  they  would  have  the  rabbit  out  of  hiding, 

To  please  the  yelping  dogs.  R.  FROST,  Mending  Wall.1 

The  obvious  difficulty  is  to  maintain  dignity  along  with 
relaxation  —  a  feat  which  Mr.  Frost  and  Mr.  E.  A. 
Robinson  have  occasionally  accomplished.  And  from 
this  it  is  but  a  step  to  the  extreme  simplicity  of  Miss 
Lowell's  To  Two  Unknown  Ladies  — 

If  either  of  you  much  attracted  me 

We  could  fall  back  upon  phenomena 

And  make  a  pretty  story  out  of  psychic 

Balances,  but  not  to  be  too  broad 

In  my  discourtesy,  nor  prudish  neither 

(Since,  really,  I  can  hardly  quite  suppose 

With  all  your  ghostliness  you  follow  me), 

I  feel  no  such  attraction.     Or  if  one 

Bows  to  my  sympathy  for  the  briefest  space, 

1  Mr.  Frost  in  some  of  his  later  work  permits  himself  such  laxness 
as  — 

Had  beauties  he  had  to  point  out  to  me  at  length 
To  insure  their  not  being  wasted  on  me. 

The  Axe-Helve. 


150  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Snap  —  it  is  gone!    And,  worst  of  all  to  tell, 
What  broke  it  is  not  in  the  least  dislike 
But  utter  boredom. 
Now.  .  .  . 

Thus  the  wheel  has  come  nearly  full  circle,  but  with 
a  longer  radius.  For  just  as  blank  verse  developed 
from  the  early  Elizabethan — and  pre-Elizabethan — 
strict  formality  to  the  laxity  of  the  Jacobean  drama- 
tists and  found  a  true  balance  of  freedom  and  restraint 
in  Milton,  so  from  the  monotonous  eighteenth-century 
couplet  (and  it  should  be  recalled  that  in  the  beginning 
blank  verse  sprang  from  the  couplet)  it  has  gradually 
enlarged  its  freedom  into  the  extreme  license  from  a 
metrical  point  of  view  of  its  adopted  cousin  free- verse. 
Already,  moreover,  there  have  been  signs  of  a  reaction 
against  the  extreme,  and  the  wheel  is  coming  to  an 
artistic  balance  again. 

4.  FREE-VERSE 

Free-verse  (or,  as  Miss  Lowell  prefers,  *  unrhymed 
cadence ')  is  a  hydra-headed  phenomenon.  It  can 
never  be  adequately  discussed;  for  when  one  head  is 
disposed  of,  two  others  appear  in  its  place.  Its  origins 
are  involved  in  obscurity  and  —  what  is  worse  — 
ignorance;  and  its  practitioners  and  staunchest  de- 
fenders are  as  variable  in  their  points  of  view  as  it  itself 
is  in  its  rhythmic  impulses.1 

1  Strongly  to  be  deprecated  is  the  frequent  confusion  not  only  of  the 
different  varieties  of  English  free-verse,  but  of  the  fundamentally  distinct 
phenomena  of  free-verse  as  commonly  understood  and  French  vers  libre. 
Vers  libre  itself  has  many  aspects,  from  the  literally  freer  use  of  rime  and 
the  mute  -e  than  the  traditional  French  prosody  allowed  and  an  escape 
from  the  old  principle  of  syllabification  to  what  superficially  corresponds 


METRICAL  FORMS  151 

Behind  all  the  utterances  of  friend  and  foe  seems  to 
lie  the  ultimate  belief  that  the  '  voluntary  thraldom  '  of 
formal  metrical  patterns  is  a  monstrous  error  which 
can  only  be  removed  by  unrestricted  appreciation  and 
application  of  the  natural  rhythms  of  idea  and  of  lan- 
guage. There  is  in  every  thought,  however  simple  or 
subtle,  in  every  feeling,  however  evanescent  or  pro- 
found, an  inherent  rhythm  which  is  as  a  material  body 
to  the  thought's  or  emotion's  soul.  This  native,  in- 
evitable rhythm  —  one  might  call  it  the  rhythme  juste, 
the  exact  rhythm — is  the  only  fit  expression  for  an  in- 
tellectual or  emotional  idea;  all  others  are  foreign  to  it, 
tyrannous  usurpations,  in  a  word,  impossible  substitu- 
tions for  it.  To  attempt,  therefore,  to  twist  these  nat- 
ural and  exact  rhythms  to  the  formal  predetermined 
patterns  of  traditional  versification  is  a  suicidal  im- 
pertinence, foredoomed  to  failure. 

Such  a  position  has  in  theory  much  justice.  It 
means  briefly  that  the  basis  of  poetical  form  should 
not  be  the  metrical  pattern  freely  varied  yet  always 
perceptible,  but  the  natural  organic  rhythm  of  the 
ideas  expressed;  that  is,  there  should  be  no  harmonized 
difference  between  what  have  been  explained  above 
as  thought  rhythms,  sound  rhythms,  and  metrical 
rhythms,  but  all  three  should  be  one  original  and  in- 
divisible unit.  This  would  make  a  combined  thought- 
and-sound  unit  (breath  group  and  logical-emotional 

with  English  free- verse,  that  is,  a  substitution  of  prose  for  verse;  but  only 
superficially,  since  the  French  language  is  phonetically  different  from 
English,  and  its  ordinary  prose  has  a  naturally  greater  song  potentiality. 
Since  the  phenomena  differ  they  should  not  be  called  by  the  same  name. 
The  English  term  '  free-verse  '  is  wholly  adequate. 


152  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

group)  the  foundation  of  verse,  whereas  this  is  really 
the  characteristic  of  prose  as  distinguished  from  verse. 
These  exact  organic  rhythms  "differ  from  ordinary 
prose  rhythms,"  says  Miss  Lowell,  "in  being  more 
curved,  and  containing  more  stress";  which,  though 
not  very  perspicuous,  seems  to  mean  that  free-verse  is 
more  carefully  cadenced,  or,  in  other  words,  more 
nearly  metrical,  than  ordinary  prose.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  no  injustice  to  the  upholders  of  free-verse  in  its  best 
manifestations  to  say  that,  while  metre  requires  that 
beneath  all  variations  the  regular  beat  should  never  be 
missed,  free-verse  requires  as  much  rhythm  (i.  e.,  reg- 
ularity) as  is  possible  without  its  becoming  percep- 
tible. 

If  this  is  true,  or  as  near  the  manifold  truth  as  one 
can  get,  then  the  free-verse  movement  in  English  is 
mainly  a  return  to  the  cadenced  prose  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  with  the  additional  trait  of  the  appear- 
ance of  verse.  This  is  an  important  addition,  however. 
It  involves  a  careful  recognition  of  what  psychology 
calls  the  '  prose  attitude  '  and  the  '  verse  attitude,'  and 
also  (as  has  been  suggested  above)  the  peculiar  union  of 
prose  with  the  spatial  rhythm  of  verse.  We  read  with 
ear  and  eye  together,  though  with  varying  proportions 
of  emphasis  on  the  one  or  the  other;  for  some  '  vocal- 
ize '  whatever  they  read,  others  read  almost  entirely 
with  the  eye.  Since  it  is  the  eye  that  takes  the  earlier 
and  quicker  perception  of  printed  language,  we  tend  to 
judge  by  the  appearance  of  a  page  whether  it  contains 
prose  or  verse.  Columns  of  irregular  but  approximately 
equal  line  lengths,  regular  blocks  of  printing  regularly 


METRICAL  FORMS  153 

spaced  and  separated  as  stanzas,  indentation  of  every 
second  or  every  third  line  —  these  at  once  announce 
that  the  page  contains  verse.  And  they  at  the  same 
time  constitute  an  obvious  spatial  rhythm  to  the  eye, 
and  prepare  the  attention  of  eye  and  ear  and  mind  for 
the  approximate  regularity  of  verse.  Then,  when  so 
prepared,  we  unconsciously  organize  as  fully  as  pos- 
sible any  irregularities  that  appear  in  the  language  and 
transform  into  actual  verse  the  verse  potentialities 
which  pervade  our  speech. 

Some  kinds  of  free-verse,  however,  do  not,  so  far  as 
one  can  see,  aim  to  be  more  than  ordinary  prose  printed 
in  segments  more  or  less  closely  corresponding  with  the 
phrase  rhythm  or  normal  sound  rhythms  of  language. 
It  is  then  prose  in  actuality  and  verse  in  appearance  — 
no  more. 

On  the  justification  of  this  peculiar  amalgam  there  is 
little  agreement.  No  doubt  for  certain  swift  effects 
free-verse  is  the  natural  and  most  serviceable  medium. 
Many  short  poems  in  this  irregular  form  are  like  snap- 
shots or  like  rapid  sketches  as  compared  with  finished 
paintings.  But  the  ultimate  aesthetic  judgment  must 
be  precisely  that  of  the  snapshot  as  compared  with 
finished  painting.  Nature  is  always  wrong,  says  the 
paradox;  art  depends  upon  a  deliberate  selection  of  de- 
tails and  structure.  It  balances  freedom  and  restraint, 
variety  and  uniformity,  one  against  the  other;  and 
even  when  it  appears  spontaneous  it  is  but  the  result  of 
an  unconscious  choice  which  is  itself  born  of  long  train- 
ing or  of  the  mysterious  faculty  divine.  In  very  little 
of  what  at  present  is  called  free-verse  does  art  have  a 


154  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

real  place.  It  is  all  freedom  and  variety,  with  almost 
no  restraint  and  uniformity:  all  stimulation  and  no  re- 
pose. There  is  sometimes  a  rapid  alternation  of  verse 
rhythm  and  prose  rhythm,  which,  in  Bacon's  phrase, 
may  cleave  but  not  incorporate;  they  succeed  each 
other  but  do  not  melt  into  each  other.  Now  and  again, 
to  be  sure,  this  uncertainty,  this  very  irregularity, 
powerfully  represents  the  thought  and  emotion  of  the 
poem;  but  nevertheless  there  can  be  little  doubt  that 
except  in  the  limited  field  of  instantaneous  flashes  the 
most  adequate  and  pleasing  medium  is  the  skilfully 
varied  regularity  of  formal  verse.1 

The  many  kinds  of  free-verse  are  recognizable 
chiefly  by  the  greater  or  less  feeling  of  metrical  form 
lying  behind  them.  For  convenience  they  may  be  dis- 
tinguished, according  as  verse  or  prose  predominates, 
as  (i)  irregular  unrimed  metre,  (2)  very  free  blank 
verse,  (3)  unusual  mingling  of  metre  and  prose,  a  kind 
of  recitative,  and  (4)  mere  prose  printed  as  verse,  or 
what  may  be  called  free-verse  par  excellence.  A  few 
illustrations  will  help  to  make  clear  the  distinctions. 

Of  the  first  sort  are  the  unrimed  choruses  in  Mil- 
ton's Samson  Agonistes,  the  metre  of  Southey's  once- 

1  "In  the  effort  to  get  rhyme,  '  the  rack  of  finest  wits,"  "  says  a  pseu- 
donymous newspaper  writer,  "and  in  the  struggle,  writhing,  and  agony  of 
trying  to  get  the  wrong  words  to  say  the  right  thing,  one  sometimes 
achieves  the  impossible,  or,  rather,  from  the  flame  of  frantic  friction  (of 
'  Rhyming  Dictionary '  leaves)  rises,  phoenix-like,  another  idea,  some- 
what like  the  first,  its  illegitimate  child,  so  to  say,  and  thus  more  beauti- 
ful. 

"With  vers  libre  one  experiences  the  mortification  one  sometimes  feels 
in  having  roared  out  one's  agony  in  perfectly  fit  terms.  With  rhymed 
poetry  one  feels  the  satisfaction  of  a  wit  who  gives  the  nuance  of  his  mean- 
ing by  the  raise  of  an  eyebrow,  the  turn  of  a  word." 


METRICAL  FORMS  155 

admired  Thalaba  and  the  Curse  of  Kehama,  and  parts 
of  Shelley's  Queen  Mab.  Here  the  lines  are  irregular  in 
length  (as  in  the  '  irregular '  Pindaric  odes),  but  they 
are  usually  felt  as  truly  metrical,  though  they  do  not 
repeat  a  single  pattern. 

This,  this  is  he;  softly  a  while; 

Let  us  not  break  in  upon  him. 

O  change  beyond  report,  thought,  or  belief ! 

See  how  he  lies  at  random,  carelessly  diffused, 

With  languished  head  unpropt, 

As  one  past  hope,  abandoned, 

And  by  himself  given  over, 

In  slavish  habit,  ill-fitted  weeds 

O'er-worn  and  soiled. 

Or  do  mine  eyes  misrepresent?    Can  this  be  he, 

That  heroic,  that  renowned, 

Irresistible  Samson?  .  .  . 

Samson  Agonistes,  115-126. 

The  Fairy  waved  her  wand: 
Ahasuerus  fled 

Fast  as  the  shapes  of  mingled  shade  and  mist 
That  lurk  in  the  glens  of  a  twilight  grove 
Flee  from  the  morning  beam: 
The  matter  of  which  dreams  are  made 
Not  more  endowed  with  actual  life 
Than  this  phantasmal  portraiture 
Of  wandering  human  thought. 

Queen  Mab,  iii. 

Thou  tyrannous  over-mastering  Spirit,  Lucifer, 

Hear  now  thy  guilt. 

The  first  in  glory  amongst  us  all  wast  thou; 

Nor  did  we  grudge  thee  loyalty, 

When  of  old  beneath  thy  leadership  against  Yahveh, 

And  thereafter  against  the  mild  Galilean  Godhead, 

We  waged  war  for  dominion  over  the  minds  of  man. 

But  perished  now  long  since  is  the  might  of  Yahveh; 

And  his  Son,  a  plaintive,  impotent  phantom,  wails 


156  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Over  that  faith,  withering,  corrupted,  petrified, 
For  which  he  died  vainly. 

R.  C.  TREVELYAN,  Lucifer  Enchained. 

Green  boughs  stirring  in  slumber 

Sigh  at  the  lost  remembrance 

Of  Aulon, 

Golden-thighed,  in  the  heart  of  the  forest. 

Here,  where  the  dripping  leaves 

Whisper  of  passing  feet 

To  the  fragrant  woodways, 

The  moonlight  floods  the  forsaken  tangled  boughs 

With  loneliness 

For  Melinna,  gone  from  the  evening. 

EDWARD  J.  O'BRIEN,  Hellenica. 

Very  free  blank  verse,  when  taken  in  small  excerpts, 
often  seems  devoid  of  metrical  regularity.  The  reason 
for  this  is  that  in  long  poems  much  greater  freedom  is 
possible  because  the  ear  and  the  attention,  accustomed 
for  longer  periods  to  the  formal  pattern,  hold  it  more 
easily  where  it  becomes  faint.  Examples  of  this  ap- 
proximation to  prose  have  been  given  above,  pages  43, 
44.  The  famous  first  lines  of  Paradise  Lost,  if  printed 
after  the  contemporary  fashion  of  free-verse,  would  by 
very  few  be  recognized  as  blank  verse;  and  the  same 
is  true  of  many  passages  throughout  the  poem,  and 
indeed  throughout  all  long  poems  in  blank  verse. 

Of  Man's  first  disobedience 

And  the  fruit  of  that  forbidden  tree 

Whose  mortal  taste  brought  death  into  the  world, 

And  all  our  woe, 

With  loss  of  Eden, 

Till  one  greater  Man  restore  us 

And  regain  the  blissful  seat, 

Sing, 


METRICAL  FORMS  157 

Heavenly  Muse, 

That  on  the  secret  top  of  Horeb 

Or  of  Sinai 

Didst  inspire  that  shepherd  .  .  . 

Among  the  finest  free-verse  in  English  are  the  Even- 
ing Voluntaries  of  Henley.1  In  these  poems  clearly 
metrical  lines  (sometimes  only  parts  of  lines)  alternate 
with  simple  prose.  The  line  length  is  now  based  on 
phrasal  rhythm,  and  at  other  times  on  no  discoverable 
principle  except  that  of  beginning  a  new  line  with  some 
emphatic  word. 

White  fleets  of  cloud, 

Argosies  heavy  with  fruitfulness, 

Sail  the  blue  peacefully.     Green  flame  the  hedgerows. 

Blackbirds  are  bugling,  and  white  in  wet  winds 

Sway  the  tall  poplars. 

Pageants  of  colour  and  fragrance, 

Pass  the  sweet  meadows,  and  viewless 

Walks  the  mild  spirit  of  May, 

Visibly  blessing  the  world.  HENLEY,  Pastoral. 

Have  the  gods  then  left  us  in  our  need 

Like  base  and  common  men? 

Were  even  the  sweet  grey  eyes 

Of  Artemis  a  lie, 

The  speech  of  Hermes  but  a  trick, 

The  glory  of  Apollonian  hair  deceit? 

Desolate  we  move  across  a  desolate  land, 

The  high  gates  closed, 

No  answer  to  our  prayer; 

Naught  left  save  our  integrity, 

No  murmur  against  Fate 

Save  that  we  are  juster  than  the  unjust  gods, 

More  pitiful  than  they. 

RICHARD  ALDINGTON,  Disdain. 

1  See  a  part  of  Margarita  Sorori,  page  43,  above. 


158  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Modern  free-verse,  or  free-verse  par  excellence ,  which 
is  mere  prose  with  the  spatial  rhythm  of  verse,  has 
been  skilfully  written  by  various  contemporaries.  Let 
a  single  example  suffice.  Such  a  bare  but  moving  situa- 
tion as  that  of  Miss  Lowell's  Fool's  Money  Bags  could 
no  doubt  be  adequately  presented  in  traditional  metre, 
but  perhaps  not  so  directly  as  in  her  *  curved  '  prose  — 

Outside  the  long  window, 

With  his  head  on  the  stone  sill, 

The  dog  is  lying, 

Gazing  at  his  Beloved. 

His  eyes  are  wet  and  urgent, 

And  his  body  is  taut  and  shaking. 

It  is  cold  on  the  terrace; 

A  pale  wind  licks  along  the  stone  slabs, 

But  the  dog  gazes  through  the  glass 

And  is  content. 

The  Beloved  is  writing  a  letter. 
Occasionally  she  speaks  to  the  dog, 
But  she  is  thinking  of  her  writing. 
Does  she,  too,  give  her  devotion  to  one 
Not  worthy  ? 1 

A  good  example  of  combined  metre  and  confessed 
prose  (not  to  be  confused  with  the  mingling  of  verse 
and  prose  illustrated  on  the  previous  page)  with  easy 
transitions  from  one  form  to  the  other  may  be  seen  in  a 
poem  called  Spring  by  Mr.  Clement  Wood.  The  rapid 
change  from  verse  to  prose  is,  of  course,  familiar  in 
Shakespeare  and  his  fellow  dramatists,  sometimes  even 
in  a  single  speech. 

1  From  Sword  Blades  and  Poppy  Seeds,  by  permission  of  Houghton 
Mifflin  Co. 


METRICAL  FORMS  159 

5.  EXOTIC  FORMS 

As  wide  as  are  the  possibilities  of  variety  in  native 
English  verse,  the  poets  have  endeavored  to  extend  its 
boundaries  by  the  annexation  of  foreign  prosodies  from 
ancient  Greece  and  Rome  and  from  mediaeval  France. 
In  absolute  contrast  to  free-verse,  which  is  the  denial  of 
metrical  formalism,  this  is  the  apotheosis  of  it.  They 
admittedly  place  form  above  content  and  are  satisfied 
(for  the  most  part)  with  the  mere  exhilaration  of  danc- 
ing gracefully  in  chains. 

A  group  of  Elizabethan  experimenters,  among  whom 
were  Sidney  and  Spenser,  sought  diligently  to  compose 
in  the  quantitative  metres  of  the  classics;  Puttenham, 
the  author  of  one  of  the  first  English  treatises  on  the 
Art  of  Poetry  (1589),  declared  that  by  "leisurable 
travail"  one  might  "easily  and  commodiously  lead  all 
those  feet  of  the  ancients  into  our  vulgar  language"; 
but  while  they  may  have  satisfied  themselves  (Spenser 
certainly  did  not)  these  experimenters  produced  noth- 
ing of  genuine  significance.  The  result  was  candidly 
anticipated  by  Ascham,  who  said  in  the  Schoolmaster 
(1570)  that  "carmen  exametrum  doth  rather  trot  and 
hobble  than  run  smoothly  in  our  English  tongue." 
Thomas  Nash  confirms  this  opinion  in  his  criticism  of 
Stanyhurst's  attempt  to  translate  Virgil  into  hexam- 
eters: "The  hexameter  verse  I  grant  to  be  a  gentleman 
of  an  ancient  house  (so  is  many  an  English  beggar); 
yet  this  clime  of  ours  he  cannot  thrive  in.  Our 
speech  is  too  craggy  for  him  to  set  his  plow  in.  He  goes 
twitching  and  hopping  in  our  language  like  a  man  run- 
ning upon  quagmires,  up  the  hill  in  one  syllable  and 


160  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

down  the  dale  in  another,  retaining  no  part  of  that 
stately  smooth  gait  which  he  vaunts  himself  with 
amongst  the  Greeks  and  Latins  "  (Four  Letters  Con- 
futed). Coleridge's  judgment  was  the  same: 

This  is  a  galloping  measure,  a  hop,  and  a  trot,  and  a  gallop. 

Thereafter,  apart  from  isolated  attempts,  efforts 
were  abandoned  until  the  nineteenth  century,  when 
Southey,  following  William  Taylor,  who  in  turn  had 
been  induced  by  Goethe's  Hermann  und  Dorothea  to 
try  a  new  principle  of  frankly  substituting  sentence 
stress  or  accent  for  length  of  syllable,  wrote  his  Vision 
of  Judgment  (1821).  Out  of  this  revised  experimenting 
came  ultimately  Longfellow's  Evangeline  (1847)  and 
the  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  (1858)  and  dough's 
Bothie  of  Tober-na-Vuolich  (1848).  These  alone,  not 
to  mention  the  lesser  imitations,  were  enough  to  dis- 
credit the  movement  metrically.  Meanwhile  Tenny- 
son and  Kingsley,  followed  later  by  William  Watson, 
and  still  enthusiastically  by  the  present  Poet  Laureate, 
undertook  to  harmonize  syllabic  length  and  stress  by 
more  or  less  occult  processes.  As  a  matter  of  learned 
experiment  and  debate  these  problems  have  a  certain 
academic  interest,  but  only  the  staunchest  and  (one 
may  say)  blindest  adherents  find  in  them  any  practical 
importance. 

The  storm  centre  of  all  classical  adaptations  has 
been  the  dactylic  hexameter,  the  standard  measure  of 
Greek  and  Latin  narrative  poetry.  The  most  nearly 
successful  English  hexameters  are  probably  those  of 
Kingsley's  Andromeda  (1858),  which  occupy  a  middle 


METRICAL  FORMS  161 

ground  between  the  purely  accentual  and  the  purely 
(so-called)  quantitative  experiments.  An  example  of 
this  and  one  of  Mr.  Bridges'  quantitative  hexameters 
must  suffice.  Though  both  have  good  qualities, 
neither  approaches  the  melodic  variety  and  dignity  of 
Homer  and  Virgil,  or  even  Ovid.1 

Over  the  sea,  past  Crete,  on  the  Syrian  shore  to  the  southward, 
Dwells  in  the  well-tilled  lowland  a  dark-haired  ^thiop  people, 
Skilful  with  needle  and  loom,  and  the  arts  of  the  dyer  and  carver, 
Skilful,  but   feeble   of  heart;  for  they  know  not  the  lords  of 

Olympus, 

Lovers  of  men;  neither  broad-browed  Zeus,  nor  Pallas  Athene, 
Teacher  of  wisdom  to  heroes,  bestower  of  might  in  the  battle; 
Share  not  the  cunning  of  Hermes,  nor  list  to  the  songs  of  Apollo. 

Andromeda. 

Now  in  wintry  delights,  and  long  fireside  meditation, 
'Twixt  studies  and  routine  paying  due  court  to  the  Muses, 
My  solace  in  solitude,  when  broken  roads  barricade  me 
Mudbound,  unvisited  for  months  with  my  merry  children, 
Grateful  t'ward  Providence,  and  heeding  a  slander  against  me 
Less  than  a  rheum,  think  of  me  to-day,  dear  Lionel,  and  take 
This  letter  as  some  account  of  Will  Stone's  versification. 

R.  BRIDGES,  Wintry  Delights. 

After  the  hexameter  the  most  frequently  imitated 
metre  is  the  Sapphic  strophe.  Swinburne's  Sapphics  in 
Poems  and  Ballads  are  the  best  known;  but  though 
they  are  finely  musical  they  do  not  pretend  to  give 
more  than  an  echo  of  the  Greek  music. 

All  the  night  sleep  came  not  upon  my  eyelids, 
Shed  not  dew,  nor  shook  nor  unclosed  a  feather, 

1  The  advanced  student  should  of  course  read  carefully  the  paper  on 
"  Classical  Metres  in  English"  by  W.  J.  Stone  in  Bridges'  Milton's  Pros- 
ody (2ded.)>  pp.  113  ff*  Mr.  Stone  regards  the  hexameters  of  dough's 
Actaeon  and  some  specimen  verses  by  Spedding  (the  biographer  of  Bacon) 
as  the  best  he  has  seen. 


1 62  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Yet  with  lips  shut  close  and  with  eyes  of  iron 
Stood  and  beheld  me. 

Then  to  me  so  lying  awake  a  vision 
Came  without  sleep  over  the  seas  and  touched  me, 
Softly  touched  mine  eyelids  and  lips;  and  I  too, 
Full  of  the  vision, 

Saw  the  white  implacable  Aphrodite, 
Saw  the  hair  unbound  and  the  feet  unsandalled 
Shine  as  fire  of  sunset  on  western  waters; 
Saw  the  reluctant.  .  .  . 

Both  Tennyson  and  Swinburne  tried  the  Catullan 
hendecasyllabics.  Tennyson's  Milton,  in  alcaics,  is 
famous,  and  has  a  well-marked  Miltonic  sound,  but 
little  of  the  sound  of  Horace's  alcaics.  Admirable  also 
are  the  elegiac  distichs  of  Watson's  Hymn  to  the 
Sea  — 

Man  whose  deeds,  to  the  doer,  come  back  as  thine  own  exhala- 
tions 

Into  thy  bosom  return,  weepings  of  mountain  and  vale; 
Man  with  the  cosmic  fortunes  and  starry  vicissitudes  tangled, 
Chained  to  the  wheel  of  the  world,  blind  with  the  dust  of  its 

speed, 

Even  as  thou,  O  giant,  whom  trailed  in  the  wake  of  her  conquests 
Night's  sweet  despot  draws,  bound  to  her  ivory  car. 

Of  the  French  lyrical  metres  that  have  been  imitated 
in  English,  mainly  for  lighter  themes,  the  ballade  and 
the  rondeau  are  the  most  important.  These  and  the 
villanelk,  triolet,  andpantoum  are  not,  like  imitations  of 
classical  forms,  semi-learned  attempts  to  do  in  English 
what  is  foreign  to  the  nature  of  the  language,  but  games 
of  skill  in  phrasing  and  riming,  wholly  legitimate  once 
their  artificiality  is  granted.  For  the  impassioned  over- 
flowing of  a  sincere  spirit  they  are  unfitted,  but  for 


METRICAL  FORMS  163 

grace,  point,  and  delicate  charm  nothing  could  be  bet- 
ter devised;  and  when  occasionally  they  are  used  for 
the  expression  of  genuine  feeling,  the  unexpected  union 
of  lightness  and  seriousness  has  a  peculiarly  poignant 
effect. 

The  ballade  in  its  commonest  form  consists  of  three 
8-line  stanzas  riming  ababbcbc  and  a  4-line  stanza 
called  '  envoy,'  bcbc\  the  last  line  of  each  stanza  be- 
ing repeated  as  a  refrain,  and  the  a,  b,  and  c  rimes 
throughout  the  poem  being  the  same.  The  lines  con- 
tain usually  either  four  or  five  stresses.  The  envoy  is 
a  sort  of  dedication,  addressed  traditionally  to  a 
"Prince."  Variations  of  all  kinds  occur,  encouraged  by 
the  difficulty  of  satisfying  all  the  demands  of  the  form. 
Examples  may  be  found  (with  an  excellent  introduc- 
tion) in  Gleeson  White's  collection  of  Ballades  and 
Rondeaus  (Canterbury  Poets),  and  Andrew  Lang's 
Ballades  of  Blue  China. 

Rondeaus  and  rondels  (two  forms  of  the  same  word) 
are  written  with  greater  freedom  of  variation.  Their 
organic  principle  is  the  use  of  the  first  phrase  or  first 
line,  twice  repeated,  as  a  refrain  (R).  The  commoner 
model  in  English  is:  aabbay  aabR,  aabbaR,  in  which  the 
first  half  of  the  first  line  constitutes  the  refrain.  An- 
other type  rimes  ABba,  abAB,  abbaAB  (the  capital 
letters  indicating  the  lines  repeated).  For  examples 
see  the  reference  above.  Austin  Dobson,  Henley,  and 
Swinburne  have  written  successfully  in  this  form. 

The  triolet  is  a  sort  of  abbreviation  of  the  second 
variety  of  rondeau.  Its  lines  are  usually  short  and  rime 
ABaAabAB. 


164  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

The  villanelle,  in  its  normal  form,  consists  of  five 
3-line  stanzas  (aba)  and  a  concluding  4-line  stanza, 
all  with  but  two  rimes,  the  first  line,  moreover,  being 
repeated  as  the  sixth,  twelfth,  and  eighteenth,  the  third 
line  as  the  ninth,  fifteenth,  and  nineteenth. 

The  pantoum  is  of  Eastern  origin,  but  it  came  into 
English  through  the  French.  It  is  extremely  rare.  It 
consists  of  a  series  of  quatrains  ababy  with  the  second 
and  fourth  lines  of  each  stanza  repeated  chainwise  as 
the  first  and  third  of  the  next  stanza.  The  closing 
stanza  completes  the  chain  by  taking  as  its  second  and 
fourth  lines  the  first  and  third  of  the  first  stanza. 

From  Italy  have  come,  besides  the  ottava  rima  and 
the  sonnet,  two  other  metrical  forms,  the  sestina  and 
the  terza  rima.  The  sestina  is  composed  of  six  6-line 
stanzas  and  a  final  3-line  stanza.  Instead  of  rimes  the 
end  words  of  the  lines  of  the  first  stanza  are  repeated  in 
this  order  1.2.3.4.5.6.  —  6.1.5.2.4.3.  —  3.6.4.1.2.5.  — 
5.3.2.6.1.4.  —  4.5.1.3.6.2.  —  2.4.6.5.3.1.  —  and  the  last 
stanza  5.3.1.  with  2.4.6.  in  the  middle  of  the  lines. 
Gosse,  Swinburne,  and  Kipling  have  written  sestinas; 
Swinburne  one  with  the  additional  embellishment  of 
rime. 

The  terza  rima  is  the  metre  of  Dante's  Divine  Com- 
edy. The  rimes  are  aba,  bcb,  cdc,  etc.  .  .  .  jyzy,  zz.  It 
has  not  been  very  successfully  used  in  English,  except 
in  the  stanzaic  arrangement  of  Shelley's  Ode  to  the 
West  Wind,  —  aba,  bcb,  cdcy  ded>  ee.  Other  examples 
besides  translations  of  Dante  are  short  poems  by 
Wyatt  and  Sidney,  Browning's  The  Statue  and  the 
Bust,  and  Shelley's  unfinished  The  Triumph  of  Life. 


CHAPTER  V 

MELODY,  HARMONY,  AND  MODULATION 


F^HE  terms  melody,  harmony,  and  modulation, 
-•-  being  borrowed  from  music,  are  not  to  be  applied 
too  literally  to  the  art  of  versification.  They  represent 
metaphorically,  however,  certain  important  qualities 
of  verse  which,  with  the  exception  of  rime,  cannot  from 
their  very  impalpability  be  formally  explained,  but  can 
only  be  suggested  and  partially  described.  They  are 
not  the  determining  and  fundamental  characteristics 
of  verse  —  those  have  already  been  discussed  —  but 
rather  its  sources  of  incremental  beauty,  of  richness 
and  subtle  power.  To  draw  an  illustration  from  an- 
other art,  they  add  light  and  shadow,  fullness,  round- 
ness, depth  of  perspective,  vividness,  to  what  would 
else  be  simple  line-drawing. 

The  language  of  ordinary  prose  has  its  own  melody 
and  harmony,  its  own  sonorous  rhythms,  and  its  own 
delicate  adjustments  between  sound  and  meaning.  All 
these  natural  beauties  verse  inherits  from  prose  and 
then  adds  the  further  beauties  that  result  from  the 
union  of  prose  rhythms  and  the  formal  patterns  of 
verse.  Some  of  these  qualities  which  are  the  peculiar 
enhancements  of  verse  will  now  be  examined. 

The  simplest  and  most  tangible  of  these  is  rime 
in  its  various  forms.  Rime  is,  in  its  most  general  signi- 
fication, the  repetition,  usually  at  regulated  intervals, 

165 


1 66  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

of  identical  or  closely  similar  sounds.  According  to 
the  circumstances  of  the  identical  or  similar  sounds, 
four  varieties  are  distinguishable:  (i)  alliteration,  or 
initial  rime,  when  the  sounds  at  the  beginning  of  ac- 
cented syllables  agree,  as  /ale,  a/Aine;  (2)  consonance, 
when  the  vowel  sounds  differ  and  the  final  consonantal 
sounds  agree,  as  ta/e,  pu//;  (3)  assonance,  when  the 
vowel  sounds  agree  and  the  consonants  differ,  as  tale, 
pain-  and  (4)  rime  proper,  when  both  the  vowels  and 
the  final  consonants  agree,  as  tale,  pate. 

Alliteration  is  a  natural  and  obvious  method  of 
emphasis  in  English  —  and  often  difficult  to  avoid 
rather  than  to  obtain.  Popular  sayings  —  wind  and 
weather,  time  and  tide,  kith  and  kin,  ever  and  aye,  to 
have  and  to  hold  —  are  fond  of  it  for  its  own  sake.  The 
early  English,  German,  and  Scandinavian  prosodies 
made  it  a  determining  principle;  and  in  the  north  of 
England  it  survived  well  into  the  fifteenth  century; 
but  since  then  it  has  been  considered  a  too  'easy'  kind 
of  metrical  ornament,  one  to  be  used  sparingly  and 
only  for  very  special  effects.  "Apt  alliteration's  artful 
aid"  is  very  well  when  it  is  apt  and  artful;  but  when 
some  poets  in  their  simplicity  have  gone  so  far  as  to 
"hunt  the  letter  to  the  death,"  one  cannot  but  con- 
demn it,  in  John  Burroughs'  ironic  phrase,  as  a  "lep- 
rosy of  alliteration."  Most  of  the  poets,  however,  have 
made  skilful  use  of  it,  notably  Tennyson  and  Swin- 
burne, though  the  latter  frequently  overdid  it,  as  in  — 

.  .  .  rusted  sheaves 
Rain-rotten  in  rank  lands. 

A  Ballad  of  Death. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     167 

Very  remarkable  is  the  combination  of  rime  and  fre- 
quent alliteration  in  Browning's  Abt  Vogler. 

Analogous  to  alliteration  and  perhaps  to  be  classed 
as  a  by-form  of  it  is  the  subtle  use  of  the  same  sound  in 
unstressed  parts  of  neighboring  words,  as  in  — 

Over  the  dark  abyss,  whose  boi/ing  gu/f 
Tame/y  endured  a  bridge  of  wondrous  /ength. 

Paradise  Lost,  II,  1027-28. 

Consonance  is  very  similar  to  this  latter  form  of  al- 
literation. Its  use  is  irregular  and  usually  hidden.  Note 
the  alliteration  and  consonance  in  Milton's  line,  both 
the  s's  and  the  n's  — 

Through  the  soft  silence  of  the  list'ning  night. 

Assonance,  like  alliteration  and  consonance,  occurs 
in  modern  verse  sporadically,  almost  accidentally,  but 
with  great  frequency  in  all  languages.  As  a  regular 
principle  of  verse  (in  place  of  rime)  it  is  characteristic 
of  Spanish  and  of  Old  French;  in  English  its  deliberate 
use  is  very  rare — the  best  example  is  perhaps  the  song 
"Bright,  O  bright  Fedalma"  in  George  Eliot's  The 
Spanish  Gypsy. 

Minute  analysis  is  tedious  and  unsatisfactory,  often 
indeed  misleading,  but  a  single  example  will  perhaps 
suggest  some  of  the  ways  in  which  alliteration,  con- 
sonance, and  assonance  are  interwoven  for  harmonic 
effects  that,  not  being  altogether  obvious,  are  felt 
rather  than  directly  perceived.  Similar  experiments 
may  be  made  by  the  reader  with  other  passages.  The 
opening  stanza  of  Gray's  Elegy,  quoted  on  page  55, 
above,  is  remarkable  for  its  smooth  and  quiet  flow, 


i68  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

symbolic  of  the  atmosphere  described  by  the  words. 
How  is  this  '  atmosphere  '  produced  ?  or  rather,  what 
is  there  that  produces  in  us  this  sense  of  appropriate 
atmosphere?  In  the  first  place,  the  lines  are  5-stress 
and  have  the  "long  iambic  roll,"  and  the  rimes  are 
simple  abab.  Furthermore,  the  coincidence  of  prose 
and  verse  rhythms  is  noticeable;  there  are  only  three 
variations:  wind  in  the  second  line,  which  is  too  impor- 
tant to  occupy  the  metrically  unstressed  position,  and 
o'er  in  the  second  line  and  the  second  and  in  the  fourth, 
which  are  not  quite  strong  enough  to  stand  in  the 
stressed  position.  By  a  sort  of  substitution  or  '  occult 
balance  '  the  weakness  of  o'er  is  compensated  by  the 
slight  overweight  of  wind.  And  the  weakness  of  and 
is  strengthened  by  the  rhetorical  pause  after  darkness. 
A  rough  approximation  in  semi-musical  notation  would 
give  for  the  second  line 


There  is  a  syncopation  by  which and  w  ^  combine 

(the  natural  syllabic  length  of  o'er  helping  consider- 
ably) without  destroying  the  fundamental  rhythm.  In 
the  fourth  line,  instead  of 

\j  —  \j  —  \j  — 
we  have 

...  to  dark-ness    and  to  me,  — 

the  pause  being  supported  by  the  meaning  as  well  as  by 
the  structure  of  the  verse.  Alliteration  is  appropriately 
inconspicuous;  it  is  limited  to  plowman  .  .  .  p/ods 
and  the  conventional  weary  way.  The  consonance  is 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     169 

significant.  The  most  frequently  repeated  consonantal 
sounds  are:  /  10,  d  9,  rl  8,  th  6,  n  6,  and  w  5;  that  is,  of 
the  seventy  consonantal  sounds  (counting  th  as  one,  p 
and  /  as  two  sounds)  in  the  stanza,  thirty-five,  or  one- 
half,  are  the  comparatively  soft  sounds  /,  r,  th,  n,  w. 
From  the  point  of  view  of  the  line,  a  tabulation  shows 
two  or  more  occurrences  in  each  line  of  — 

1  TH    R  T   L 

2  —  TH    R         L   D 

3  —  R         LDPMWH 

4  —  R   T    L   D  N 

That  is,  there  is  a  kind  of  RTLD  motif  throughout  the 
stanza.  The  assonance  is  even  more  striking.  The 
stressed  vowel  sounds  (which  are  of  course  the  most 
important 2)  line  by  line  are  as  follows: 3 

tiR  5  5  a  e 
5  UR  o  6  I 
au  6  6  I  e 
I  tiR  a  1 

Here  the  five  o-sounds  and  four  i-sounds  and  three 
iiR-sounds  are  noticeable. 

Now  while  no  one  would  dream  of  saying  that  such  a 
mechanical  examination  unlocks  the  mystery  of  this 
quatrain's  music,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  pre- 
dominance of  some  sounds  (especially  those  that  are 
peculiarly  suggestive)  over  others  is  significant.  And 
certainly  such  a  tabulation  reveals  parts  of  the  mystery 
which  are  not  plain  even  to  the  trained  eye  and  ear. 

1  According  to  the  commonest  American  pronunciation. 

2  The  unaccented  vowel  sounds  show  the  usual  predominance  of  the 
obscure  vowel  e,  with  three  occurrences  of  I  and  I. 

3  Reference  to  the  text  will  identify  the  symbols. 


170  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

The  origin  of  rime  is  much  disputed,  but  it  occurs,  at 
least  sporadically,  in  the  poetry  of  nearly  all  peoples, 
and  is  likely  to  have  been  a  spontaneous  growth  arising 
from  a  natural  human  pleasure  in  similar  sounds.  "It 
lies  deep  in  our  human  nature  and  satisfies  an  universal 
need."  It  is  an  established  phenomenon  in  Sanskrit 
and  Persian  prosody,  in  Arabic,  in  Chinese,  in  Celtic,  in 
Icelandic.  Greek  prosody,  and  Latin,  which  was  based 
upon  Greek,  rejected  it,  partly  perhaps  because  it  was 
too  simple  an  ornament  for  the  highly  cultivated  Greek 
taste,  especially  on  account  of  the  great  frequency  of 
similar  inflectional  endings,  and  perhaps  because  it  was 
not  entirely  consistent  with  the  quantitative  principle.1 
In  the  •popular  Latin  verse,  however,  which  was  ac- 
centual, rime  is  found;  and  when,  before  the  fall  of  the 
later  Empire,  quantity  was  gradually  abandoned,  rime 
returned  as  a  regular  feature  of  Latin  verse.  From 
thence  it  passed  into  the  Romance  languages  —  Pro- 
vencal, Italian,  French  —  where  it  was  for  a  time 
rivalled  by  assonance;  and  finally,  under  French  in- 
fluence after  the  Conquest,  it  made  its  way  into  Eng- 
land. But  it  had  not  been  unknown  in  earliest  English 
verse,  though  it  occurred  only  here  and  there,  as  in 
Greek  and  Latin.2  And  from  the  fact  that  rimes  appear 
with  greater  frequency  in  the  later  than  in  the  earlier 
Anglo-Saxon  verse,  as  the  native  poets  became  more 

1  Rime  occurs,  however,  here  and  there  in  Greek  and  Latin  poetry, 
and  is  more  frequent  than  perhaps  we  commonly  suppose. 

2  In  the  3182  lines  of  Beowulf,  for  example,  there  are  sixteen  exact 
rimes  and  many  more  approximate  rimes.    There  is  also  in  Anglo-Saxon 
the  so-called  Riming  Poem,  of  uncertain  date,  composed  probably  under 
Scandinavian  influence. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     171 

familiar  with  the  rimed  Latin  hymns,  one  may  feel  sure 
that  it  would  have  developed  into  a  staple  of  English 
verse  independently  of  French  influence.  From  the 
twelfth  century  until  the  introduction  of  blank  verse 
by  the  Elizabethans,  practically  all  English  verse,  ex- 
cept that  which  belongs  to  the  Alliterative  Revival 
(mainly  in  the  north  of  England)  of  the  second  half  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  was  rimed. 

From  the  aesthetic  point  of  view  rime  has  been 
severely  attacked  and  faithfully  defended.  A  lively 
controversy  was  waged  at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth 
century  between  the  Renaissance  classicists,  who  of 
course  condemned  it,  and  the  native  rimers,  but  was 
brought  to  a  peaceful  conclusion  by  Samuel  Daniels' 
A  Defence  of  Rhyme  in  1603.  In  a  prefatory  note  to 
the  second  edition  of  Paradise  Lost,  Milton  delivered 
an  arrogant  but  ineffectual  counterblast.  Rime,  he 
said,  was  "no  necessary  adjunct  or  true  ornament  of 
poem  or  good  verse,  in  longer  works  especially,  but  the 
invention  of  a  barbarous  age,  to  set  off  wretched  mat- 
ter and  lame  metre;  graced  indeed  since  by  the  use  of 
some  famous  modern  poets,  carried  away  by  custom, 
but  much  to  their  own  vexation,  hindrance,  and  con- 
straint to  express  many  things  otherwise,  and  for  the 
most  part  worse,  than  else  they  would  have  expressed 
them." 

The  chief  arguments  against  rime  are  those  men- 
tioned by  Milton,  its  tendency  to  conceal  "wretched 
matter  and  lame  metre,"  and  the  necessity  it  often 
forces  upon  poets  of  either  twisting  unpleasantly  what 
they  have  to  say  or  of  adding  irrelevant  matter.  Be- 


172  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

sides  these  there  is  also  what  Cowper  called  "clock- 
work tintinnabulum"  —  mere  empty  jingle.  But  all 
the  arguments  are  double-edged.  For  although  many 
inferior  poets  have  imposed  for  a  while  on  readers 
and  critics  by  the  superficial  melody  of  rime  alone, 
"wretched  matter  and  lame  metre"  were  never  long 
successfully  concealed  by  it.  And  although,  as  Hobbes 
wrote,  rime  "  forces  a  man  sometimes  for  the  stopping 
of  a  chink  to  say  something  he  did  never  think,"  it  is  a 
fact  nevertheless  that  the  second  thought,  induced  by 
rime-necessity,  "  the  rack  of  truest  wits,"  x  is  sometimes 
if  not  better  than  the  first,  at  least  a  worthy  and  hand- 
some brother  to  it.  Whether  rime  be  a  hindrance, 
vexation,  and  constraint  to  the  poet  depends  almost 
wholly  on  his  mastery  of  the  technique  of  verse.  It  is 
not  always  easier  to  write  in  unrimed  measures,  for,  as 
Milton  proudly  implied,  good  blank  verse  is  the  most 
difficult  of  all  metres.  And  although  the  jingle  of  like 
sounds  may  become  tedious  and  mechanical  if  un- 
skilfully handled  —  "to  all  judicious  ears  trivial  and 
of  no  true  musical  delight,"  says  Milton  again  —  it 
has  also  proved  a  source  of  richness  and  beauty  of 
sound;  and  it  should  never  be  forgotten  that  in  the 
true  aesthetic  judgment  of  poetry  sound  plays  a  very 
important  part.2 

The  satisfaction  which  the  ear  receives  from  rime  at 
the  end  of  a  verse  has  been  aptly  compared  to  the 
pleasure  we  feel  when  a  long  arch  of  melody  returns  to 
the  dominant  and  then  the  tonic.  More  elaborate  is 

1  See  the  whole  of  Ben  Jonson's  Fit  of  Rhyme  against  Rhyme. 

2  Compare  Flaubert's  extreme  statement:  "  that  a  beautiful  verse  with- 
out meaning  is  superior  to  one  that  has  meaning  but  is  less  beautiful." 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     173 

Oscar  Wilde's  praise  of  rime  —  "  that  exquisite  echo 
which  in  the  music's  hollow  hill  creates  and  answers  its 
own  voice;  rhyme,  which  in  the  hands  of  a  real  artist 
becomes  not  merely  a  material  element  of  metrical 
beauty,  but  a  spiritual  element  of  thought  and  passion 
also,  waking  a  new  mood,  it  may  be,  or  stirring  a  fresh 
train  of  ideas,  or  opening  by  mere  sweetness  and  sug- 
gestion of  sound  some  golden  door  at  which  the  Imag- 
ination itself  had  knocked  in  vain;  rhyme,  which  can 
turn  man's  utterance  into  the  speech  of  the  gods; 
rhyme,  the  one  chord  we  have  added  to  the  Greek 
lyre." 

The  real  problem  in  the  arguments  on  rime  is  its 
fitness  or  unfitness  in  particular  kinds  of  poetry.  No 
rules  or  laws  can  be  formulated;  men  have  judged  dif- 
ferently at  different  times;  but  it  has  been  generally 
felt  that  shorter  poems,  inasmuch  as  they  are  in  a  way 
the  concentrated  essence  of  poetry,  and  must  make 
their  full  impression  almost  instantaneously,  require 
all  the  advantages  of  the  poetic  art.  Tennyson's  un- 
rimed  lyrics  and  Collins'  Ode  to  Evening  are  unusual, 
though  successful,  experiments.  For  long  poems,  how- 
ever, there  is  not  this  necessity  of  immediate  effect. 
Here  rime  is  sometimes  a  vexation,  sometimes  not. 
Justification  lies  in  special  circumstances.  The  class- 
ical French  drama  found  it  indispensable;  English 
poetic  drama  gave  it  a  trial  in  the  seventeenth  century 
and  rejected  it.  Narrative  poems  which  contain  a 
large  lyrical  element,  like  the  Faerie  Queene  and  the 
Eve  of  St.  Agnes,  are,  all  agree,  enhanced  by  the  rime. 
But  no  one  would  now  wish  to  have  Paradise  Lost  in 


174  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

rimed  verse,  though  it  is  clear  from  the  publisher's  note 
in  1668  that  many  readers  at  the  time  were  'stumbled' 
because  it  was  not.  On  the  other  hand,  we  feel  that 
Chapman's  and  Pope's  Homer  and  Dryden's  Virgil 
might  have  been  better  without  rimes.  Once  more,  it 
lies  with  the  poet  —  and  with  the  poem  —  to  justify 
his  use  of  rime  or  his  refusal  of  it;  if  he  is  a  good  poet 
and  his  judgment  is  not  warped  by  local  or  temporary 
conditions  there  will  rarely  be  any  doubt. 

Rimes  are  called  masculine  when  they  consist  of  one 
syllable,  as  cries:  arise;  feminine  when  they  consist  of 
two  or  more  syllables,  as  heedless:  needless,  beautiful: 
dutiful.  When  both  vowel  and  following  consonant 
agree  the  rime  is  called  perfect,  as  might:  right,  solemn: 
column.  When  the  preceding  consonant  as  well  as  the 
vowel  and  following  consonant  agree  the  rime  is  called 
identical  or  echo  rime,  as  reed:  read,  perfection:  infection, 
ours:  hours.  When  there  is  a  difference  either  in  the 
vowel  sound  or  in  the  following  consonantal  sound, 
that  is,  when  assonance  or  consonance  is  substituted 
for  rime,  the  rime  is  usually  said  to  be  approximate  or 
imperfect,  as  worth:  forth,  was:  pass,  gusht:  dust  (Cole- 
ridge). When  the  rime  words  look  alike  but  are  pro- 
nounced differently,  they  are  called  eye  rimes,  as  war: 
car,  brow:  glow.  Sometimes  false  rimes  occur  which  have 
no  similarity  of  sound  or  appearance,  but  are  more  or 
less  sanctioned  by  earlier  pronunciation  or  by  custom, 
as  high:  humanity.  Sometimes  also  unaccented  syllables 
are  rimed  with  accented  syllables,  as  burning:  sing. 

Imperfect  rimes  of  all  sorts  are  used  for  various  rea- 
sons. Compared  with  some  languages,  English  is  not 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION    175 

very  rich  in  rime  words;  and  for  many  words  which 
poets  are  prone  to  use,  such  as  love,  God,  heaven,  etc., 
few  available  rimes  exist.  When  good  rimes  are  few, 
older  pronunciations  are  often  resorted  to,  as  the 
familiar  love:  move,  blood:  stood,  north: forth.  In  reading 
the  older  poets  we  find  many  rimes  which  are  now  im- 
perfect but  were  once  entirely  correct,  as  the  eighteenth 
century  fault:  thought,  join:  shine,  tea:  way.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  poet's  carelessness  or  indifference  is 
sometimes  to  blame  for  approximate  rimes,  as  Gray's 
beech:  stretch  in  the  Elegy,  and  his  relies:  requires, 
Blake's  lamb:  name  and  tomb:  come,  Coleridge's  forced: 
burst,  Whittier's  notorious  pen:  been,  etc.  But  to 
dogmatize  on  a  point  like  this  is  obviously  very  dan- 
gerous. Certain  poets,  especially  among  the  moderns, 
may  be  said  to  choose  imperfect  rimes  deliberately, 
both  as  a  fresh  means  of  securing  variety  and  avoiding 
the  monotony  of  hackneyed  rimes,  and  also  as  a  means 
of  subtly  suggesting  the  imperfection  and  futility  of 
life.  A  few  famous  examples,  defensible  and  indefen- 
sible, are:  Wordsworth's  robin:  sobbing,  sullen:  pulling; 
Tennyson's  with  her:  together,  valleys:  lilies;  Keats's 
youths:  soothe,  pulse:  culls;  Swinburne's  lose  him: 
bosom:  blossom.  Keats  and  Rossetti  are  noted  for  their 
free  use  of  approximate  rimes.  The  humorous  rimes  of 
Byron  and  Browning,  among  others,  are  of  course  in  a 
different  category. 

Feminine  rimes  have  been  frequently  rejected  as  un- 
dignified. They  are,  said  Coleridge,  "a  lower  species  of 
wit";  and  he  instanced,  not  very  justly,  the  couplet  of 
Smart: 


176  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Tell  me,  thou  son  of  great  Cadwallader! 

Hast  sent  the  hare?  or  hast  thou  swallowed  her? 1 

But  again  the  right  justification  is  successful  use,  and 
no  one  will  deny  that  Swinburne's  double  and  triple 
rimes  have  greatly  enriched  his  verse  and  revealed  to 
others  unused  possibilities  of  metre.  Such  rimes  as 
grey  leaf:  bay-leaf  were  practically  a  new  thing  in  1 865.2 

Too  evasive  for  explanatory  analysis,  almost  too 
delicate  and  impalpable  even  for  descriptive  comment, 
are  many  of  the  best  musical  effects  of  fine  poetry.  The 
poet's  ear  and  his  sixth  prosodic  sense  enable  him  to 
make  his  verse  a  perfect  vehicle  of  his  meaning  and 
emotion.  He  chooses  an  appropriate  stanza  for  his 
poem,  discovers  an  unguessed  power  in  some  common 
measure,  makes  the  words  hurry  or  deliberately  holds 
them  back,  varying  the  tempo  with  the  spirit  of  the 
words,  gives  the  pattern  an  unusual  twist  when  the 
idea  is  unusual,  startles  or  soothes  by  the  sound  as  well 
as  by  the  intellectual  content  of  his  lines  —  and  ac- 
complishes all  these  metrical  nuances,  not  with  the 
whip-snapping  of  the  ring-master,  but  with  the  con- 
summate art  that  conceals  art.  When  his  prosodic 
effects  are  obvious  they  lose  their  power;  we  can  see 
how  the  trick  is  done  and  we  do  not  marvel.  But  when 
we  feel  vaguely  the  haunting  quality  of  a  melodious  line 
or  the  perfect  metrical  Tightness  of  a  phrase  without 
knowing  why  the  melody  haunts  us  or  the  phrase  just 
fits,  then  we  both  marvel  and  applaud;  then  the  poet's 

1  Triple  rimes  are  naturally  excellent  for  joco-serious  purposes,  like  the 
celebrated  intellectual:  henpecked  you  all,  Timbuftoo:  hymn  book  too,  thin 
sand  doubts:  ins  and  outs.  2  Swinburne,  Dedication,  1865. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     177 

gift,  his  divine  authorization,  is  patent,  and  we  recog- 
nize his  superiority  with  awe. 

Some  of  these  effects  have  already  been  mentioned 
in  the  preceding  paragraphs;  but  besides  the  '  tone- 
color  '  of  assonance  and  consonance  and  rime  proper 
there  are  also  effects  of  pitch  and  of  tempo  and  of 
repetition,  and  imitative  effects,  more  or  less  concrete 
and  explainable.  It  is  true  that  many  trained  readers 
find  subtleties  of  sound  and  suggestiveness  where 
others  find  none,  and  also  that  many  find  rich  beauties 
that  the  poet  himself  was  not  aware  of  and  did  not  in- 
tend. This  latter  case  may  be  accounted  for  in  two 
ways:  sometimes  a  reader  is  supersubtle  and  imagines 
embellishments  that  do  not  exist;  and  sometimes  the 
poet  builds  better  than  he  knows.  His  intuition,  or  in- 
spiration, or  whatever  one  chooses  to  call  it,  endows 
him  with  powers  of  whose  complete  functioning  he  is 
not  at  the  time  conscious.  As  readers  must  steer  care- 
fully between  these  two  dangers,  so  also  the  poet  has  to 
avoid  on  the  one  hand  repelling  us  by  the  appearance 
of  a  metrical  device  and  on  the  other  losing  an  effect 
which  he  intends  but  which  may  be  too  delicate  to  be 
seen  or  felt.  No  one  probably  ever  missed  the  simple 
melody  of  Poe's 

The  viol,  the  violet,  and  the  vine; 

or  the  imitative  effectiveness  of  Swinburne's 
With  lisp  of  leaves  and  ripple  of  rain; 

and  though  these  beauties  are  obvious  they  are  for 
most  tastes  not  too  obtrusive.     But  Tennyson's 
Low  on  the  sand  and  loud  on  the  stone 


178  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

is  not  so  obvious,  and  there  is  danger  of  its  escaping 
notice.  One  hears  the  line  with  increased  pleasure 
after  the  imitation  of  sound  is  pointed  out;  but  only 
the  trained  ear  catches  it  at  first. 

This  correspondence  of  sound  and  sense  is  called 
onomatopoeia.  It  may  appear  in  a  single  word,  as  buzz, 
whacky  crackle,  roar,  etc.;  or  a  combination  of  imitative 
words,  as  Tennyson's 

The  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms, 
And  murmuring  of  innumerable  bees; 

or  a  suggestive  echo  rather  than  direct  imitation,  as 
Shelley's 

Makes  faint  with  too  much  sweet  these  heavy-winged  thieves; 

or  a  suggestion  of  motion  rather  than  of  sound,  as  Mil- 
ton's sea-fish 

huge  of  bulk, 
Wallowing  unwieldy,  enormous  in  their  gait, 

and  the 

Leviathan,  which  God  of  all  his  works 
Created  hugest  that  swim  the  ocean  stream; 

or  an  attempt  to  imitate  the  motion  described,  as 
Tennyson's  picture  of  Excalibur  when  Sir  Bedivere 
hurls  it  into  the  lake  — 

The  great  brand 

Made  lightnings  in  the  splendour  of  the  moon, 
And  flashing  round  and  round,  whirled  in  an  arch, 
Shot  like  a  streamer  of  the  northern  morn; 

and  Swinburne's  more  simple 

As  a  lamp 
Burns  and  bends  all  its  blowing  flame  one  way; 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     179 

or  even  the  correspondence  of  a  harsh  line  and  a  harsh 

thought,  as  Browning's  famous 

Irks  care  the  crop-full  bird,  frets  doubt  the  maw-crammed  beast?1 

Sometimes  there  is  obtained  an  effect  of  altered 
tempo;  of  which  the  best  illustration,  though  hack- 
neyed, is  still  Pope's  clever  couplets  in  the  Essay  on 
Criticism  — 

When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw, 

The  line  too  labours,  and  the  words  move  slow: 

Not  so,  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain, 

Flies  o'er  th'  unbending  corn,  and  skims  along  the  main.8 

Examples  of  similar  metrical  skill  may  be  found 
everywhere,  especially  among  the  more  conscious 
literary  artists,  such  as  Shelley,  Tennyson,  Rossetti, 
Swinburne,  and  Browning,  too.  A  few  worth  study 
follow: 

To-morrow  and  to-morrow  and  to-morrow 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day. 

SHAKESPEARE,  Macbeth,  V,  v. 

To  bellow  through  the  vast  and  boundless  deep. 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost,  I,  177. 

—  Mixt 
Confus'dly,  and  which  thus  must  ever  fight. 

Ibid.,  II,  913  f. 

1  For  an  extreme  example  of  mimicry,  see  Southey's  Lodore. 

2  Lines  3yoff.  Dr.  Johnson's  comment  on  thislast  line  is  curious:  "The 
swiftness  of  Camilla  is  rather  contrasted  than  exemplified.    Why  the 
verse  should  be  lengthened  to  express  speed,  will  not  easily  be  discovered. 
In  the  dactyls,  used  for  that  purpose  by  the  ancients,  two  short  syllables 
were  pronounced  with  such  rapidity,  as  to  be  equal  only  to  one  long;  they, 
therefore,  naturally  exhibit  the  act  of  passing  through  a  long  space  in  a 
short  time.    But  the  alexandrine,  by  its  pause  in  the  midst,  is  a  tardy  and 
stately  measure;  and  the  word  '  unbending,"  one  of  the  most  sluggish  and 
slow  which  our  language  affords,  cannot  much  accelerate  its  motion." 


180  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

So  he  with  difficulty  and  labour  hard 
Mov'd  on,  with  difficulty  and  labour  he. 

Paradise  Lost,  II,  1021  f. 

Yielded  with  coy  submission,  modest  pride, 

And  sweet  reluctant  amorous  delay.          Ibid.,  IV,  310  f. 

See  how  he  lies  at  random,  carelessly  diffused, 
With  languished  head  unpropt, 
As  one  past  hope,  abandoned, 
And  by  himself  given  over. 

MILTON,  Samson  Agonistes,  118  ff. 

With  doubtful  feet  and  wavering  resolution. 

Ibid.,  732 

Some  rousing  motions  in  me,  which  dispose 

To  something  extraordinary  my  thoughts.      Ibid.,  1382  f. 

And  ten  low  words  oft  creep  in  one  dull  line. 

POPE,  Essay  on  Criticism,  347. 

The  broad  and  burning  moon  lingeringly  arose. 

SHELLEY,  The  Sunset. 

Rugged  and  dark,  winding  among  the  springs. 

SHELLEY,  Alastor,  88. 

Here,  where  precipitate  Spring,  with  one  light  bound. 

LANDOR,  Fiesolan  Idyl. 

Hammering  and  clinking,  chattering  stony  names. 

TENNYSON,  The  Princess,  III,  361. 

Myriads  of  rivulets,  hurrying  through  the  lawn. 

Ibid.,  VII,  205. 

The  league-long  roller  thundering  on  the  reef. 

TENNYSON,  Enoch  Arden,  580. 

Then  Philip  standing  up  said  falteringly. 

Ibid.,  283. 

A  long  street  climbs  to  one  tall-tower 'd  hill. 

Ibid.,  5. 
Clang  battle-axe  and  clash  brand. 

TENNYSON,  The  Coming  of  Arthur,  492. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     181 

The  blind  wave  feeling  round  his  long  sea-hall 

In  silence.  TENNYSON,  Merlin  and  Vivien,  230  f. 

Immingled  with  heaven's  azure  waveringly. 

TENNYSON,  Gareth,  914. 

The  hoof  of  his  horse  slipt  in  the  stream,  the  stream  .  .  . 

Ibid.,  1 020. 
The  brooks  of  Eden  mazily  murmuring. 

TENNYSON,  Milton. 
And  in  the  throbbing  engine  room 
Leap  the  long  rods  of  polished  steel. 

OSCAR  WILDE,  La  Mer. 

Something  has  already  been  said  above  on  the  nature 
and  effects  of  pitch  in  spoken  rhythm  (pages  35  ff.).  It 
is  a  constant  factor  of  language,  but  its  usual  function 
is  special  emphasis  or  intensification.  By  itself  it  rarely 
dominates  or  determines  the  rhythm.  And  since  the 
regular  determinants  of  spoken  rhythm  are  time  and 
stress,  it  follows  of  course  that  pitch  serves  usually  to 
reinforce  these  determinants.1  But  not  always;  for  not 
only  does  pitch  sometimes  clash  with  rhythmic  stress, 
but  also  it  is  sometimes  a  substitute  for  it.  All  three 
of  these  functions  —  strengthening,  opposing,  and  re- 
placing stress  —  are  operative  in  verse. 

In  Shelley's  line 

Laugh  with  an  inextinguishable  laughter, 

a  great  deal  of  the  effect  is  due  to  the  combination  of 
word  accent  and  emphatic  pitch  in  the  syllable  -ting-> 
so  that  not  merely  the  one  word  but  the  one  syllable 
dominates  the  whole  verse.  In  such  frequent  conflicts 
of  stress  as  "on  the  blue  surface,"  where  the  prose 

1  It  is  not  to  be  understood,  however,  that  the  higher  the  pitch  the 
greater  the  emphasis;  for  the  contrary  is  often  the  case. 


1 82  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

rhythm  is  w  w  '  '  w  while  the  verse  pattern  has 
w  _L  w  _Lw,  the  so-called  hovering  accent  (as  it  is  usually 
described,  with  the  theory  that  somehow  the  normal 
quantity  of  stress  is  divided  between  the  and  blue)  is 
properly  a  circumflex  accent,  which  in  other  words 
means  pitch.  Similarly  in  "  If  I  were  a  dead  leaf,"  the 
peculiar  rhythm  is  to  be  explained  as  a  balance  of  pitch 
against  stress.  And  in  that  metrically  notorious  line  of 
Tennyson's  — 

Take  your  own  time,  Annie,  take  your  own  time. 

TENNYSON,  Enoch  Arden,  463. 

the  chief  irregularity  or  dissonance  is  the  clash  of  pitch 
against  stress  in  "  own  time."  If  the  line  read  — 
So  you're  on  time,  Annie,  so  you're  on  time, 

there  would  be  an  unusual  arrangement  of  stresses  and 
unstressed  syllables,  a  peculiar  syncopation,  but  no 
great  difficulty.1  Much  simpler  and  clearer  is  the  con- 
flict of  stress  and  pitch  in  such  passages  as 

Pansies,  lilies,  kingcups,  daisies, 
Let  them  live  upon  their  praises. 

WORDSWORTH,  To  the  Small  Celandine.9 

1  It  is  perhaps  useless  to  debate  about  this  line.   Whether  one  divides 
thus: 

2.  w  |  ^  JL  |  J_  w  |  _L  w  |  w  ± 

and  says  there  is  an  '  inversion  '  in  the  first,  third,  and  fourth  feet,  or 
preferably  thus: 

A_L|wC±|/vJL|wJ-|wD_L 

the  rhythm  is  extraordinary;  and  the  added  complexity  of  own  '  puts  it 
entirely  hors  concours.  Compare  with  it,  however,  Milton's 

Which  but  th'  Omnipotent  none  could  have  foil'd. 

Paradise  Lost,  I,  273. 
Not  merely  titular,  since  by  degree.  Ibid.,  V,  774. 

2  The  italics  are  not  Wordsworth's. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     183 

7  only  stirred  in  this  black  spot; 

/  only  lived  —  /  only  drew 

The  accursed  breath  of  dungeon-dew. 

BYRON,  Prisoner  of  Chillon.1 
and  Keats's 

Heard  melodies  are  sweet,  but  those  unheard. 

and  Marvel's 

Annihilating  all  that's  made 

To  a  green  thought  in  a  green  shade. 

The  most  interesting,  and  the  rarest,  effect  of  pitch 
in  verse  is  its  use  as  a  substitute  for  stress.  In  the  much- 
discussed  first  line  of  Paradise  Lost  — 

Of  man's  first  disobedience  and  the  fruit, 

there  is  a  metrical  stress  on  dis-  of  "disobedience." 
This  is  not  so  much,  however,  an  intensification  of  an 
already  existent  secondary  accent,  as  in,  for  example, 
Shelley's 

The  eager  hours  and  wwreluctant  years. 

Ode  to  Liberty,  xi. 

as  the  substitution  of  pitch  for  stress.2  The  adapta- 
bility of  language  to  metre  appears  very  clearly  in  such 
a  line  as  Paradise  Lost,  III,  130  — 

Self-tempted,  self-deprav'd:  Man  falls  deceiv'd, 

in  which  the  first  compound  shows  a  conflict  of  pitch 
and  stress  ('  self '  having  a  pitch-accent,  but  occurring 
in  an  unstressed  part  of  the  line),  while  the  second 
shows  pitch  taking  the  place  of  stress.  The  whole  line, 

1  Here  the  italics  are  the  poet's. 

2  Some  readers  take  the  line  thus: 

\j  j[ Lww  —  vyv-'ww  _ 

with  emphasis  or  pitch-accent  on  '  first ';  in  which  case  the  above  ex- 
planation does  not  hold. 


184  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

and  indeed  the  whole  passage,  though  not  of  high 
poetic  value,  is  an  admirable  illustration  of  the  Mil- 
tonic  freedom  of  substitution  and  syncopation  — 
pitch  playing  a  very  important  r6le.  One  should  read 
the  lines  first  as  prose,  with  full  emphasis  on  the  expres- 
sive contrasts;  then  merely  as  verse,  beating  out  the 
metre  regardless  of  the  meaning;  finally,  with  mutual 
sacrifice  and  compromise  between  the  two  readings, 
producing  that  exquisite  adjustment  which  is  the 
characteristic  of  good  verse.  There  is  a  similar  example 
of  pitch  and  stress  in  the  familiar 

What  recks  it  them?  what  need  they?     They  are  sped. 

Repetition  is  a  rhetorical  not  a  metrical  device, 
though  it  is  employed  with  great  effectiveness  in  verse 
as  well  as  in  prose: 

For  Lycidas  is  dead,  dead  ere  his  prime, 
Young  Lycidas  .  .  . 

The  leaves  they  were  crisped  and  sere  — 
The  leaves  they  were  withering  and  sere. 

But  a  frequent  kind  of  repetition  which  is  truly  a 
prosodic  phenomenon  and  which,  though  primarily  an 
element  of  stanzaic  form,  has  often  an  effect  analogous 
to  those  just  described,  is  the  refrain.  This  may  vary 
from  the  simple  "My  Mary"  of  Cowper's  poem  (see 
page  103,  above)  to  the  elaboration  of  such  a  stanza  as 
Rossetti's  Sister  Helen: 

"  Why  did  you  melt  your  waxen  man, 

Sister  Helen  ? 

To-day  is  the  third  since  you  began." 
"  The  time  was  long,  yet  the  time  ran, 

Little  brother." 
(0  Mother,  Mary  Mother, 
Three  days  to-day,  between  Hell  and  Heaven!) 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     185 

in  which  the  second,  fifth,  and  sixth  lines  remain  the 
same  throughout  the  forty-two  stanzas,  and  the  sec- 
ond half  of  the  last  line  as  well. 

Besides  the  prosodic  variations  and  subtleties  so  far 
discussed,  there  are  a  great  many  peculiar  rhythms, 
that  is,  unusual  but  harmonious  changes  from  the  set 
metrical  pattern,  modulations,  adjustments  and  com- 
binations of  different  melodies,  which  enormously  en- 
rich the  verse  of  a  poem.  As  in  music  the  ear  at  length 
tires  of  the  familiar  harmonies  too  often  repeated,  so 
the  precise  regularity  of  the  metrical  pattern  too 
closely  followed  becomes  tedious  and  almost  demands 
variety.  To  be  sure,  a  certain  amount  of  variety  re- 
sults of  necessity  from  the  continual  adaptation  of 
ordinary  language  to  the  requirements  of  verse;  but 
many  of  the  examples  of  early  heroic  couplets  and 
early  blank  verse  are  enough  to  show  that  this  natural 
variety  is  too  slight  to  satisfy  the  ear.  The  poet  must 
exert  a  perpetual  vigilance  to  prevent  monotony.  But 
on  the  other  hand,  only  the  highly  cultivated  ear  ap- 
preciates the  very  unusual  subtleties  of  rhythm,  and 
the  poet  must  therefore,  unless  he  is  willing  to  deprive 
himself  of  ordinary  human  comprehension  and  write 
esoterically  for  the  "fit  audience  though  few"  (in  Mil- 
ton's proud  phrase),  limit  himself  to  reasonably  intel- 
ligible modulations.  "It  is  very  easy  to  see,"  says  Mr. 
Robert  Bridges,  "how  the  far-sought  effects  of  the 
greatest  master  in  any  art  may  lie  beyond  the  general 
taste.  In  rhythm  this  is  specially  the  case;  while  al- 
most everybody  has  a  natural  liking  for  the  common 
fundamental  rhythms,  it  is  only  after  long  familiarity 


1 86  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

with  them  that  the  ear  grows  dissatisfied,  and  wishes 
them  to  be  broken;  and  there  are  very  few  persons  in- 
deed who  take  such  a  natural  delight  in  rhythm  for  its 
own  sake  that  they  can  follow  with  pleasure  a  learned 
rhythm  which  is  very  rich  in  variety,  and  the  beauty  of 
which  is  its  perpetual  freedom  to  obey  the  sense  and 
diction."  l  Some  examples  of  these  finer  rhythms,  in 
addition  to  the  particular  forms  already  given  — 
rhythms  not  altogether  '  learned,'  but  occasionally  far- 
sought  and  peculiarly  delicate  —  may  be  profitably 
examined.  One  should  keep  the  metrical  pattern  con- 
stantly in  mind  as  a  test  or  touchstone  of  the  varia- 
tions. To  classify  or  arrange  these  illustrations  in 
special  groups  is  difficult  because  so  often  the  same  line 
exemplifies  more  than  one  sort  of  variation,  but  the 
following  more  or  less  vague  classes  of  modulation 
(substitution  and  syncopation)  may  be  differentiated, 
and  other  peculiarities  mentioned  in  passing. 

The  normal  blank  verse  line  calls  for  five  stressed 
syllables  and  five  unstressed  syllables;  but  when  two 
light  syllables  are  naturally  and  easily  uttered  in  the 
time  of  one,  trisyllabic  feet  occur,  sometimes  with  and 
sometimes  without  special  effect  — 

And  pointed  out  those  arduous  paths  they  trod. 

POPE,  Essay  on  Criticism,  I,  95. 
The  cataracts  blow  their  trumpets  from  the  steep. 

WORDSWORTH,  Immortality  Ode. 
Departed  from  thee;  and  thou  resembl'st  now. 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost,  IV,  839. 
To  quench  the  drouth  of  Phebus;  which  as  they  taste. 

MILTON,  Comus,  66. 

1  Milton's  Prosody,  p.  30  ( 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     187 

When  this  extra  syllable  comes  at  the  end  of  the  line  it 
is  more  noticeable;  for  if  it  is  a  weak  syllable,  it  tends 
to  give  the  line  a  falling  rhythm,  and  if  it  is  a  heavy 
syllable,  it  distinctly  lengthens  the  line,  with  a  semi- 
alexandrine  effect  — 

Of  rebel  angels,  by  whose  aid  aspiring. 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost,  I,  38. 

Remember  who  dies  with  thee,  and  despise  death. 

FLETCHER,  Valentinian,  V,  i. 

Sometimes  there  are  two  consecutive  lines  having  such 
hypermetrical  syllables  — 

Extolling  patience  as  the  truest  fortitude; 
And  to  the  bearing  well  of  all  calamities. 

MILTON,  Samson  Agonistes,  654  f. 

Much  more  frequent,  however,  is  the  trisyllabic  ef- 
fect in  which  the  number  of  syllables  of  a  line  remains 
constant,  that  is,  in  the  heroic  or  5-stress  line  does 
not  exceed  ten  — 

Infinite  wrath  and  infinite  despair. 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost,  IV,  74. 

Suddenly  flashed  on  her  a  wild  desire. 

TENNYSON,  Lancelot  and  Elaine,  355. 

And  the  following  line  (Comus,  8)  contains  an  extra 
syllable  at  the  end,  one  in  the  middle,  and  also  a 
trisyllabic  effect  at  the  beginning  — 

Strive  to  keep  up  a  frail  and  feverish  being. 

This  last  phenomenon,  the  trisyllabic  (or  dactylic,  or 
anapestic)  effect,  is  commonly  described  as  an  inver- 
sion —  the  '  rule  '  being  given  that  in  certain  parts  of 
the  line  the  iamb  is  inverted  and  becomes  a  trochee. 


1 88  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

This  explanation  is  convenient,  but  it  is  open  to  the 
objection  of  inaccuracy.  It  almost  stands  to  reason 
that  when  a  rising  rhythm  is  established  the  sudden 
reversal  of  it  would  produce  a  harsh  discordant  effect, 
would  practically  destroy  the  rhythmic  movement  for 
the  time  being.  So  it  is  in  music,  at  any  rate,1  whereas 
it  is  not  so  with  these  '  inverted  feet '  of  verse.  There- 
fore it  seems  more  reasonable  to  scan  such  a  line  as  that 
of  Tennyson  thus: 

A.  Sud  [  denly  flashed  |  on  her  |  a  wild  |  desire, 

and  the  substitution  is  simply  that  of  a  triple  rising 
(anapestic)  for  a  duple  rising  (iambic)  rhythm  in  the 
same  time.  Sud-  is  a  monosyllabic  foot,  and  the  pre- 
ceding rest  is  easily  accounted  for  by  the  pause  at  the 
end  of  the  previous  line.  In  fact,  this  phenomenon  is 
nearly  always  in  immediate  proximity  to  a  pause 
either  at  the  beginning  of  a  line  or  in  the  middle.  Very 
common  is  the  movement  — 

Flashing  thick  flames,  wheel  within  wheel  withdrawn. 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost,  VI,  751. 

Thou  on  whose  stream,  'mid  the  steep  sky's  commotion. 

SHELLEY,  Ode  to  the  West  Wind. 

Or  if  they  sing,  'tis  with  so  dull  a  cheer 

That  leaves  look  pale,  dreading  the  Winter's  near. 

SHAKESPEARE,  Sonnet  97. 

Less  simple  are  the  following  lines  from  Samson 
Agonistes  — 

The  mystery  of  God,  given  me  under  pledge.  378. 

With  goodness  principl'd  not  to  reject.  760. 

The  jealousy  of  love,  powerful  of  sway.  791  • 

To  satisfy  thy  lust:  love  seeks  to  have  love.  837. 

1  The  pronounced  syncopations  of  ragtime  partially  illustrate  this. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     189 

Still  more  unusual  are  — 

Yet  fell:  remember  and  fear  to  transgress. 

Paradise  Lost,  VI,  912. 

Of  thrones  and  mighty  seraphim  prostrate. 

Ibid.,  VI,  841. 

But  in  the  last  example  Milton's  pronunciation  would 
give  the  second  syllable  of  *  prostrate  '  a  weak  accent 
to  support  the  metrical  stress.  That  he  was  willing  to 
take  the  extreme  risk,  however,  and  actually  invert  the 
rhythm  of  the  last  foot,  appears  from  unequivocal  in- 
stances in  Paradise  Lost: 

Which  of  us  who  beholds  the  bright  surface.  VI,  472. 

Beyond  all  past  example  and  future.  X,  840. 

In  a  short  poem  such  lines  as  these  last  would  pre- 
sumably be  unthinkable;  probably  Milton  counted  on 
the  length  of  Paradise  Lost  to  fix  the  rhythm  so  se- 
curely in  the  reader's  ear  that  even  this  bold  departure 
from  the  normal  would  seem  a  welcome  relief.  But 
it  is  both  notable  and  certain  that  in  a  lyric  measure 
the  very  same  inversion  does  not  seem  unpleasantly 
dissonant  — 

I'm  sittin'  on  the  stile,  Mary, 

Where  we  sat  side  by  side 
On  a  bright  May  mornin'  long  ago, 

When  first  you  were  my  bride. 
The  corn  was  springin'  fresh  and  green, 

And  the  lark  sang  loud  and  high, 
And  the  red  was  on  your  lip,  Mary, 

And  the  love-light  in  your  eye. 

LADY  DUFFERIN,  Lament  of  the  Irish  Emigrant. 

Allied  to  this  practice  of  inversion,  or  apparent  in- 
version, are  two  other  phenomena:  the  deliberate  vio- 


190  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

lation  of  normal  word-accent  to  fit  the  metrical  stress,1 
and  an  analogous  violation  of  phrasal  stress.  The 
former  is  not  such  an  entirely  arbitrary  procedure  as  it 
might  at  first  seem;  for  at  one  period  in  the  history  of 
the  language  the  accent  of  many  words  (especially 
those  of  French  origin)  was  uncertain.  Chaucer  could 
say,  without  forcing,  either  ndture  or  nature.  The  re- 
vival of  English  poetry  in  the  sixteenth  century  owed 
a  great  deal  to  Chaucerian  example,  and  thus  a  tradi- 
tion of  variable  accent  was  accepted  and  became  prac- 
tically a  convention,  not  limited  to  those  words  in 
which  it  had  originally  occurred.  Parallels  to  Milton's 
"but  extreme  shift"  (Comus,  273)  are  very  frequent  in 
Spenser  and  Shakespeare:  the  rhythm  is  not  ^  ±.  w  _L 
nor  \j  ^  J_  _L  but  a  sort  of  compromise  between  the  two. 
So  in  Shelley's  To  a  Skylark  — 

In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art, 

and  in  verse  of  all  kinds. 

The  wrenching  of  accent  for  metrical  purposes, 
moreover,  is  not  confined  to  the  dissyllabic  words 
which  show  the  simple  recession  of  accent.  Some  poets, 
especially  the  moderns  (among  others,  Rossetti  and 
Swinburne)  have  deliberately  forced  the  word  accent 
to  conform  to  the  metrical  pattern  in  a  way  that  can 
scarcely  be  called  adaptation  or  adjustment;  that  is 
to  say,  the  irregularities  cannot  successfully  be  '  or- 
ganized '  by  syncopation  and  substitution  so  as  to 
produce  a  true  rhythmic  movement.  For  example  — 

1  In  the  specific  cases  mentioned  below,  this  phenomenon  is  historically 
known  as  "recession  of  accent";  and  it  sometimes  occurs  in  non-metrical 
contexts.  It  is  also  very  similar  to  one  of  the  aspects  of  pitch;  see  pages 
181  f.,  above. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     191 

But  coloured  leaves  of  latter  rose-blossom, 
Stems  of  soft  grass,  some  withered  red  and  some 
Fair  and  fresh-blooded,  and  spoil  splendider 
Of  marigold  and  great  spent  sunflower. 

SWINBURNE,  The  Two  Dreams. 

So  Keats  has  — 

The  enchantment  that  afterwards  befell. 

Those  whose  taste  sanctions  such  outre  effects  prob- 
ably find  pleasure  in  the  strangeness  and  daring  of  the 
rhythm. 

An  analogous  case  to  this  distributed  stress  but  with 
monosyllables  instead  of  polysyllabic  words  is  the 
familiar  line  in  Lycidas  — 

The  hungry  sheep  look  up  and  are  not  fed. 

One  does  not  read:  "but  are  not  fed,"  nor  "but  are  not 
fed"  but  rather  something  midway  between.  This  vari- 
ation, common  with  all  poets,  was  a  special  favorite  of 
Shelley's. — 

To  deck  with  their  bright  hues  his  withered  hair. 

.  .  .  His  eyes  beheld 

Their  own  wan  light  through  the  reflected  lines 
Of  his  thin  hair,  distinct  in  the  dark  depth 
Of  that  still  fountain.  .  .  . 
Mingling  its  solemn  song,  whilst  the  broad  river. 

Alastor. 

The  monosyllabic  foot  in  which  the  unstressed  ele- 
ment is  missing  offers  no  difficulty.  The  familiar  ex- 
ample of 

Break,  break,  break, 

has  been  discussed  above  (pages  63  f.).  Compare  also 
Tennyson's  Sweet  and  Low;  Fletcher's  song  — 


192  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Lay  a  garland  on  my  hearse 

Of  the  dismal  yew; 
Maidens,  willow  branches  bear; 

Say,  I  died  true; 
and  Yeats's  — 

We  sat  grown  quiet  at  the  name  of  love; 
We  saw  the  last  embers  of  daylight  die. 

Adam's  Curse. 
Shelley  has  — 

And  wild  roses  and  ivy  serpentine. 

The  Question, 
and  Swinburne  — 

Fragrance  of  pine-leaves  and  odorous  breath. 

Song  for  the  Centenary  of  Walter  Savage  Landor. 

(where  it  would  be  absurd  to  make  two  syllables  of 
"  pine "),  and  a  debated  but  perfectly  intelligible 
hexameter  — 

Full-sailed,  wide-winged,  poised  softly  forever  asway. 

where  the  whole  music  of  the  line  depends  upon  giving 
due  time-emphasis  to  "poised."  There  is  one  odd  case, 
not  to  be  made  too  much  of  because  one  cannot  be  en- 
tirely sure  of  the  text,  in  Shakespeare's  Measure  for 
Measure,  II,  ii,  of  the  omission  of  the  stressed  element 
of  a  foot  — 

Than  the  soft  myrtle;   A  but  man,  proud  man. 

The  versification  of  the  whole  play,  however,  is  pecul- 
iar, and  this  metrical  anomaly  may  have  been  deliber- 
ate. 

The  older  writers  on  versification,  leaning  heavily  on 
the  traditional  prosody  of  Greek  and  Latin,  made 
much  of  the  caesura  or  pause,  especially  in  blank  verse. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     193 

As  has  already  been  frequently  suggested,  the  varied 
placing  of  the  pause  is  one  of  the  commonest  means  of 
avoiding  monotony  and  giving  freedom  and  fluency  to 
the  verse,  but  it  is  often  also  a  means  of  fitting  the 
verse  to  the  meaning.  Since  the  pause  comes  most  fre- 
quently near  the  middle  of  the  line,  when  it  occurs 
within  the  first  or  the  last  foot  there  is  some  special 
emphasis  intended,  as  in  Milton's  — 

Before  him,  such  as  in  their  souls  infix'd 

Plagues.  Paradise  Lost,  VI,  837  f. 

Last 
Rose  as  in  dance  the  stately  trees,  and  spread. 

Ibid.,  VII,  323  f. 

For  Milton  these  were  rather  bold  and  unusual.  Later 
poets  have  made  them  familiar,  but  no  less  effective. 
Note  Swinburne's  repeated  use  in  Atalanta  in  Caly- 
don  — 

His  helmet  as  a  windy  and  withering  moon 

Seen  through  blown  cloud  and  plume-like  drift,  when  ships 

Drive,  and  men  strive  with  all  the  sea,  and  oars 

Break,  and  the  beaks  dip  under,  drinking  death.1 

Except  in  these  two  places,  however,  there  is  seldom  a 
very  particular  effect  sought.  That  there  can  be  even 
a  good  deal  of  regularity  without  stiffness  or  monotony 
is  plain  from  a  passage  like  Paradise  Lost,  II,  344  ff.2 
The  presence  of  several  pauses  in  a  line  produces  a 
broken,  halting,  retarded  effect,  as  — 

1  Note  also  the  spondaic  effect  in  the  second  line,  the  rime  in  the  third, 
and  the  imitative  movement  in  the  fourth. 

2  Here,  dividing  the  lines  into  parts  measured  by  the  number  of  syl- 
lables, the  series  is:  6+4,  6+4, — ,  2+4+4>  6+4,  8+2,  6+4,  6+4, 
6+4,  8+2,  8+2,  etc. 


194  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Through  wood,  through  waste,  o'er  hill,  o'er  dale,  his  roam. 

Paradise  Lost,  IV,  538. 

and  is  admirably  used  by  Milton  in  describing  Satan's 
arduous  flight  through  Chaos  — 

O'er  bog  or  steep,  through  strait,  rough,  dense,  or  rare, 
With  head,  hands,  wings,  or  feet,  pursues  his  way, 
And  swims,  or  sinks,  or  wades,  or  creeps,  or  flies. 

Paradise  Lost,  II,  948  ff. 

Theoretically  each  rhythmic  stress  is  of  equal  force 
or  strength,  but  in  verse  there  is  the  greatest  variety, 
some  stresses  being  so  strong  as  to  dominate  a  whole 
line,  others  so  light  as  hardly  to  be  felt.  Thus  it  hap- 
pens sometimes  that  in  a  5-stress  line  there  are  ac- 
tually only  four  or  three  stresses:  the  rhythmic  result 
being  a  syncopation  of  four  or  three  against  five.  Some- 
times the  word  which  contains  the  weak  stress  receives 
unusual  emphasis,  as  — 

Which  if  not  victory  is  yet  revenge. 

Paradise  Lost,  II,  105. 

Fall'n  cherub,  to  be  weak  is  miserable. 

Ibid.,  I,  157. 
Me  miserable!  which  way  shall  I  fly. 

Ibid.,  IV,  73- 

Low-seated  she  leans  forward  massively. 

THOMSON,  City  of  Dreadful  Night. 

Like  earth's  own  voice  lifted  unconquerable. 

SHELLEY,  Revolt  of  Islam,  IX,  3. 

Sometimes  the  emphasis  seems  distributed,  as  — 

As  he  our  darkness,  cannot  we  his  light. 

Paradise  Lost,  II,  269. 

Passion  and  apathy  and  glory  and  shame. 

Ibid.,  II,  567. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     195 

Eyeless  in  Gaza  at  the  mill  with  slaves. 

Samson  Agonistes,  41. 

Envy  and  calumny  and  hate  and  pain. 

SHELLEY,  Adonais,  xl. 

And  sometimes  no  special  emphasis  is  apparent,  as  — 

Servile  to  all  the  skyey  influences. 

SHAKESPEARE,  Measure  for  Measure,  III,  i. 

Like  a  sad  votarist  in  palmer's  weed. 

MILTON,  Comus,  189. 

Gorgons  and  hydras  and  chimaeras  dire. 

Paradise  Lost,  II,  628. 

But  fooled  by  hope,  men  favor  the  deceit. 

DRYDEN. 
The  friar  hooded  and  the  monarch  crowned. 

By  strangers  honour'd  and  by  strangers  mourn'd. 

POPE. 
With  forest  branches  and  the  trodden  weed. 

KEATS. 

The  rhythm  of  the  last  four  examples  is  very  common 
in  all  English  verse.  Occasionally  the  metre  becomes 
almost  ambiguous  —  according  to  its  metrical  context 
the  line  may  be  either  4-stress  or  5-stress,  as  — 

To  the  garden  of  bliss,  thy  seat  prepar'd. 

Paradise  Lost,  VIII,  299. 

By  the  waters  of  life,  where'er  they  sat. 

Ibid.,  IX,  79. 

In  the  visions  of  God.     It  was  a  hill. 

Ibid.,  XI,  377. 

Three-stress  lines  in  blank  verse  are  less  frequent, 
but  the  more  striking  when  they  do  occur.  There  is 
Shakespeare's  famous  — 

To-morrow  and  to-morrow  and  to-morrow. 


196  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

Milton's 

Omnipotent, 

Immutable,  immortal,  infinite, 
Eternal  King.  Paradise  Lost,  III,  372  ff. 

(where  the  heaping  up  of  the  polysyllabic  epithets  adds 
greatly  to  the  effect) ;  and 

Of  difficulty  or  danger  could  deter. 

Paradise  Lost,  II,  499. 

Of  happiness  and  final  misery.  Ibid.,  II,  563. 

Abominable,  inutterable,  and  worse. 

Ibid.,  II,  626. 

His  ministers  of  vengeance  and  pursuit. 

Ibid.,  I,  170. 

and  Meredith's 

The  army  of  unalterable  law. 

Lucifer  in  Starlight. 

and  such  lines  as  — 

Unrespited,  unpitied,  unreprieved. 

Paradise  Lost,  II,  185 

for  which  parallels  may  be  found  in  several  other  poets 
before  and  after  Milton. 

There  is  no  reason  why  a  metrically  5-stress  line 
should  not  contain  only  two  prose  stresses,  but  ex- 
amples are  of  course  rare.  Such  an  unusual  rhythm 
would  be  seldom  demanded.  The  phrase  "acidulation 
of  perversity"  might  do,  for  it  is  easily  modulated  to 
the  metrical  form.  Occasionally,  as  in  the  last  line  of 
Christina  Rossetti's  sonnet  quoted  on  pages  120  f.,  a 
series  of  monosyllables  with  almost  level  inflection  will 
reduce  the  prose  emphasis  of  a  line  and  force  attention 
on  the  important  words  — 

Than  that  you  should  remember  and  be  sad. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     197 

A  better  example  is  Shelley's 

A  sepulchre  for  its  eternity.         Epipsychidion,  173. 

In  direct  contrast  to  these  lines  whose  effectiveness 
springs  from  a  lack  of  the  normal  quantity  of  stress 
are  those  which  are  metrically  overweighted.  A  single 
stressed  monosyllable,  supported  or  unsupported  by  a 
pause,  may  occupy  the  place  of  a  whole  rhythmic  beat, 
or  it  may  be  compressed  to  the  value  of  a  theoreti- 
cally unstressed  element.  Thus  Milton's  well-known 
line  — 

Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens,  and  shades  of  death. 

Paradise  Lost,  II,  621. 

might  if  it  stood  by  itself  equally  well  be  taken  as  an 
8-stress  or  as  a  5-stress  line;  and  obviously  in  a  blank 
verse  context  it  produces  a  very  marked  retardation  of 
the  tempo.  No  one  would  dream  of  reading  it  in  the 
same  space  of  time  as  the  rapid  line  which  just  precedes 
it  and  to  which  it  stands  in  such  striking  contrast  — 
O'er  many  a  frozen,  many  a  fiery  Alp. 

Similar  are  — 

Light-armed,  or  heavy,  sharp,  smooth,  swift  or  slow. 

Paradise  Lost,  II,  902. 

Stains  the  dead,  blank,  cold  air  with  a  warm  shade. 

SHELLEY,  Epipsychidion,  92. 

Of  waves,  flowers,  clouds,  woods,  rocks,  and  all  that  we 

Read  in  their  smiles,  and  call  reality.  Ibid.,  511  f. 

We  have  lov'd,  prais'd,  pitied,  crown'd,  and  done  thee  wrong. 

SWINBURNE,  On  the  Cliffs. 

For  extreme  examples  of  the  accelerandos  and  ritenutos 
which  our  metrical  ear  seems  willing  to  accept  easily, 


198  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

one  might  compare  two  4-stress  lines  by  contemporary 

poets  — 

In  the  mystery  of  life.  ROBERT  BRIDGES. 

On  the  highest  peak  of  the  tired  gray  world. 

SARA  TEASDALE. 
or  Swinburne's  — 

The  four  boards  of  the  coffin  lid 
Heard  all  the  dead  man  did.  .  .  . 

The  dead  man  asked  of  them: 

"Is  the  green  land  stained  brown  with  flame?" 

After  Death. 

These  few  general  classifications  by  no  means  ex- 
haust the  possibilities  of  metrical  variations  and  ad- 
justments. In  a  real  sense,  every  line  is  rhythmically 
different  from  every  other  line;  but  many  of  these  dif- 
ferences are  subjective,  that  is,  they  are  determined  by 
the  individual  training,  tastes,  habits,  of  each  reader, 
his  familiarity  with  few  or  many  poets,  the  physical 
constitution  of  his  organs  of  hearing,  even  the  tem- 
porary mood  in  which  he  reads.  The  actual,  objective 
peculiarities  of  a  line  are  always  significant,  if  the  poet 
is  a  true  master,  but  such  is  the  variableness  of  ex- 
perience and  of  life  itself  that  unless  we  possess  the 
poet's  understanding  and  his  sensitiveness  —  or  can 
cultivate  them  —  we  lose  a  certain  part  of  the  signif- 
icance. For  one  person,  therefore,  to  dogmatize  is 
both  impertinent  and  misleading:  the  following  speci- 
mens of  peculiar  rhythm  are  accordingly  left  without 
special  comment.  Some  of  them  have  long  been  bones 
of  contention  among  prosodists;  some  of  them  are  al- 
most self-explanatory,  others  are  subtle  and  difficult 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     199 

(and  must  be  felt  rather  than  explained),  others  have 
perhaps  only  their  unusualness  to  recommend  them  to 
one's  attention.  In  every  case,  however,  they  should 
be  studied  both  in  their  metrical  context  and  by  them- 
selves. They  should  be  approached  not  only  as 
technical  problems  in  the  accommodation  of  natural 
speech  emphasis  to  the  formal  patterns  of  verse,  but 
also  —  and  this  is  the  more  important  point  of  view  — 
as  adjustments  in  the  second  degree,  adjustments  of 
the  prose-and-verse  harmonies  to  the  fullest  expressive- 
ness of  which  language  is  capable.  It  is  a  common 
observation  that  emotional  language  tends  of  itself  to 
become  rhythmical;  the  emotional  and  highly  wrought 
language  of  poetry  requires  the  restraint  of  verse  as  a 
standard  by  which  its  rhythms  may  be  more  power- 
fully realized  and  its  significant  deviations  therefrom 
measured.  And  it  is  almost  a  constant '  law  '  that  the 
more  acute  or  profound  the  emotion,  the  more  complex 
is  the  rhythm  which  gives  it  fit  and  adequate  expres- 
sion in  words.  '  Complex  '  does  not  necessarily  mean 
arcane  or  supersubtle  or  recherche,.  On  the  contrary, 
simplification  (though  not  simplicity)  is  one  of  the 
characteristics  of  the  best  and  greatest  art.  But  to 
simplify  beyond  a  certain  point  the  various  entangled 
implications  of  a  poignant  emotion  is  merely  to  rob  it 
of  some  of  its  fundamental  qualities.  Nor  is  it  childish 
to  reason  that  a  peculiar  or  extraordinary  idea  is  most 
naturally  expressed  by  a  peculiar  or  extraordinary 
rhythm.  Argument  aside,  it  is  an  observable  and 
verifiable  fact. 


200  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

That  we  may  so  suffice  his  vengeful  ire. 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost,  I,  148. 

A  mind  not  to  be  changed  by  time  or  place. 

Ibid.,  I,  253. 

Behold  me  then,  me  for  him,  life  for  life. 

Ibid.,  Ill,  236. 

Both  God  and  Man,  Son  both  of  God  and  Man. 

Ibid.,  Ill,  316. 

As  from  blest  voices,  uttering  joy,  Heav'n  rung. 

Ibid.,  Ill,  347- 

Infinite  wrath  and  infinite  despair.  Ibid.,  IV,  74. 

Raphael,  the  sociable  spirit,  that  deign'd. 

Ibid.,  V,  111. 

Of  truth,  in  word  mightier  than  they  in  arms. 

Ibid.,  VI,  32. 

Before  thy  fellows,  ambitious  to  win. 

Ibid.,  VI,  1 60. 

On  me  already  lost,  me  than  thyself 

More  miserable.     Both  have  sinned;  but  thou 

Against  God  only;  I  against  God  and  thee. 

Ibid.,  X,  929  ff. 

O  miserable  mankind,  to  what  fall. 

Ibid.,  XI,  500. 

And  made  him  bow  to  the  gods  of  his  wives. 

Paradise  Regained,  II,  171. 

Hail,  Son  of  the  Most  High,  heir  of  both  worlds. 

Ibid.,  IV,  633. 

Wilt  thou  then  serve  the  Philistines  with  that  gift? 

Samson  Agonistes,  576. 

Thea!  Thea!  Thea!  where  is  Saturn? 

KEATS,  Hyperion,  I,  134. 

When  night  makes  a  weird  sound  of  its  own  stillness. 

SHELLEY,  Alastor,  30. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION    201 

Yielding  one  only  response,  at  each  pause. 

SHELLEY,  Alastor,  564. 

Touch,  mingle,  are  transfigured;  ever  still 
Burning,  yet  ever  inconsumable. 

SHELLEY,  Epipsychidion,  578  f. 

Lies  to  God,  lies  to  man,  every  way  lies. 

BROWNING,  The  Ring  and  the  Book,  IV,  216. 

'Do  I  live,  am  I  dead?'    Peace,  peace  seems  all. 

BROWNING,  The  Bishop  Orders  his  Tomb. 

Good  strong  thick  stupefying  incense-smoke. 

Ibid. 

I  cry  'Life!'  '  Death,'  he  groans,  'our  better  life!' 

BROWNING,  Aristophanes'  Apology,  1953. 

Setebos,  Setebos,  and  Setebos. 

BROWNING,  Caliban  upon  Setebos. 

Even  to  the  last  dip  of  the  vanishing  sail. 

TENNYSON,  Enoch  Arden,  244. 

Saying  gently,  Annie,  when  I  spoke  to  you. 

Ibid.,  445. 

Palpitated,  her  hand  shook,  and  we  heard. 

TENNYSON,  The  Princess,  IV,  389. 

Bearing  all  down,  in  thy  precipitancy. 

TENNYSON,  Gareth,  8. 

First  as  in  fear,  step  after  step,  she  stole 
Down  the  long  tower  stairs,  hesitating. 

TENNYSON,  Lancelot  and  Elaine,  342  f. 


This  from  Surrey's  yEneid,  because  of  its  early  date: 
He  with  his  hands  strave  to  unloose  the  knots. 

These  two  from  Elizabethan  drama  —  hundreds  of  in- 
teresting lines  may  be  culled  from  this  source,  but  the 
field  is  to  be  trodden  with  caution  because  of  the  un- 
certainties of  the  texts;  though  we  quote  'Hamlet'  we 


202  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

cannot  be  sure  we  are  quoting  Shakespeare,  and  in 
such  a  matter  as  this  certainty  is  indispensable  — 

Do  more  than  this  in  sport.  —  Father,  father. 

King  Lear,  II,  i. 

Cover  her  face;  mine  eyes  dazzle;  she  died  young. 

WEBSTER,  Duchess  of  Malfi,  IV,  ii. 

And  finally,  three  examples  from  Samson  Agonistes 
of  interwoven  tunes,  a  sort  of  counterpoint  of  two 
melodies  sounding  simultaneously  — 

My  griefs  not  only  pain  me 

As  a  lingering  disease, 

But,  finding  no  redress,  ferment  and  rage.  617  ff. 

To  boast 

Again  in  safety  what  thou  would'st  have  done 
To  Samson,  but  shalt  never  see  Gath  more.  1 127  ff. 

Force  with  force 
Is  well  ejected  when  the  conqueror  can.  1206  f. 

He  all  their  ammunition 

And  feats  of  war  defeats, 

With  plain  heroic  magnitude  of  mind.  I277  ff- 

Stevenson  compared  the  writer  of  verse  with  a  jug- 
gler who  cleverly  keeps  several  balls  in  the  air  at  one 
time.  The  comparison  is  suggestive,  but  is  true  only 
so  far  as  it  indicates  the  difficulty  of  the  operation  for 
those  who  are  not  jugglers.  The  juggler  does  not  de- 
vote conscious  attention  to  each  individual  ball.  He 
has  learned  to  keep  them  all  moving  at  once,  and  when 
he  starts  them  they  go  of  their  own  accord.  Now  and 
then,  by  conscious  effort,  he  shoots  one  higher  than  the 
others  —  but  there  is  no  need  to  labor  the  illustration. 
The  technique  of  versification  is  a  mechanical  thing  to 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION    203 

be  learned  like  any  mechanical  thing.  The  poet  learns 
it  —  in  sundry  different  ways,  to  be  sure  —  and  when 
he  has  mastered  it  he  is  no  more  conscious  of  its  com- 
plex details  while  he  is  composing  than  the  pianist  is 
conscious  of  his  ten  fingers  while  he  is  interpreting  a 
Chopin  concerto.  There  is  a  feeling,  an  idea,  a  poetic 
conception,  which  demands  expression  in  words.  The 
compound  of  direct  intellectual  activity  and  of  auto- 
matic responses  from  a  reservoir  of  intuitions  long  since 
filled  by  practice  and  experience  no  poet  has  ever  been 
able  to  analyze  —  much  less  a  psychologist  who  is  not 
a  poet.  Often  the  best  ideas,  the  best  phrases,  the 
perfect  harmony  of  thought  and  expression  emerge  spon- 
taneously; sometimes  they  have  to  be  sought,  dili- 
gently and  laboriously  sought. 

"When  one  studies  a  prosody  or  a  metrical  form," 
says  M.  Verrier,  "one  may  well  ask  if  these  allitera- 
tions, these  assonances,  these  consonances,  these  rimes, 
these  rhythmic  movements,  these  metres,  which  one 
coldly  describes  in  technical  terms  —  if  they  actually 
produce  the  designated  effects  and  especially  if  the 
poet  '  thought  of  all  that.'  So  it  is  when  an  amateur 
opens  a  scientific  treatise  on  music  and  learns  by  what 
series  of  chords  one  modulates  from  one  key  to  an- 
other, or  even  how  the  chord  of  the  dominant  seventh 
is  resolved  to  the  tonic  in  its  fundamental  form.  .  .  . 
That  the  poet  has  not '  thought  of  all  that '  is  evident, 
but  not  in  the  ordinary  sense.  When  the  illiterate 
countryman  makes  use  of  the  subjunctive,  he  is  not 
aware  that  a  subjunctive  exists,  still  less  that  one  uses 
it  tor  historical  and  logical  and  also  perhaps  for  emo- 


204  ENGLISH  VERSIFICATION 

tional  reasons.  But  the  subjunctive  exists  nevertheless, 
and  the  reasons  too."  l 

The  analogy  is  helpful,  though  not  altogether  per- 
suasive. There  is  the  familiar  story  of  Browning's 
reply  to  the  puzzled  admirer:  "Madam,  I  have  no  idea 
what  I  meant  when  I  wrote  those  lines."  So  much  for 
warning  to  the  oversedulous.  But  if  I  honestly  find 
and  feel  a  marvelous  rhythmic  eftect  where  Robert 
Browning  did  not  plan  one,  then  such  effect  certainly 
exists  —  for  me,  at  least,  and  for  all  whom  I  can  per- 
suade of  its  presence.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is  a 
potent  warning  in  the  following  exuberance: 

But  the  thought  of  the  king  and  his  villainies  stings  him  into 
rage  again,  and  the  rhythm  slowly  rises  on  three  secondary 
stresses  — 

or  ere  this 

I  should  have  fatted  all  the  region  kites 
With  this  slave's  offal. 

The  last  phrase  twists  and  writhes  through  a  series  of  secondary 
stresses  with  an  intensity  of  hatred  and  bitterness  that  takes  shape 
in  a  following  series  of  peculiar  falling  rhythm  waves,  each  one  of 
which  has  a  foam-covered  crest  '  white  as  the  bitten  lip  of  hate.' 
This  rhythm,  curling,  hissing,  tense,  topful  of  venom,  Alecto's  ser- 
pents coiling  and  twisting  through  it,  makes  one  of  the  most  awful 
passages  in  all  English  poetry  — 

Bloody,  bawdy  villain! 
Remorseless,  treacherous,  lecherous,  kindless  villain! 

and  culminates  in  Hamlet's  cry 

O  vengeance! 

which,  with  its  peculiar  sustained  falling  close,  vibrates  through 
the  rest  of  the  verse.2 

1  Verrier,  vol.  i,  p.  134. 

2  Mark  H.  Liddell,  An  Introduction  to  the  Scientific  Study  of  English 
Poetry,  New  York,  1902,  pp.  291  f. 


MELODY,  HARMONY,  MODULATION     205 

Professional  prosodists  doubt  and  dispute  one  an- 
other with  the  zeal  and  confidence  of  metaphysicians 
and  editors  of  classical  texts.  They  are  all  blind  guides 
—  perhaps  even  the  present  one!  —  if  followed  slav- 
ishly. There  is  only  one  means  (a  threefold  unity)  to 
the  right  understanding  of  the  metrical  element  in 
poetry:  a  knowledge  of  the  simple  facts  of  metrical 
form,  a  careful  scrutiny  of  the  existent  phenomena  of 
ordinary  language  rhythms,  and  a  study  of  the  ways  in 
which  the  best  poets  have  fitted  the  one  to  the  other 
with  the  most  satisfying  and  most  moving  results. 


GLOSSARIAL  INDEX 


">   M  n? 


X 


f&^t^  * 


K 


. 


GLOSSARIAL  INDEX 


A  few  terms  not  mentioned  in  the  text  are  included  here  for  the  sake 
of  completeness. 


ACCENT,  the  greater  emphasis 
placed,  in  normal  speech,  on  one 
syllable  of  a  work  as  compared 
with  the  other  syllables,  6,  34  f., 
37  f.  See  a/so  STRESS;  it  is  con- 
venient to  distinguish  the  two 
terms,  but  they  are  sometimes 
used  interchangeably. 

ACEPHALOUS,  headless;  used  to 
describe  a  line  which  lacks  the 
unstressed  element  of  the  first 
toot.  See  TRUNCATION. 
^ALEXANDRINE,  a  6-stress  iambic 
line,  85  ff.  88. 

ALLITERATION,  repetition  of  the 
same  or  closely  similar  sounds 
at  the  beginning  of  neighboring 
words  or  accented  syllables  (oc- 
casionally also  unaccented  sylla- 
bles); sometimes  called  Initial 
Rime,  166. 

AMPHIBRACH,  a  classical  foot, 
w  —  w,  51. 

ANACRUSIS,  one  or  more  extra 
syllables  at  the  beginning  of  a 
line,  71. 

ANAPEST,  a  foot  consisting  of  two 
unstresses  and  a  stress,  w  w  _L, 
38,  51,70,  80  ff. 

ANTISTROPHE,  the  counter-turn, 
or  stanza  answering  to  the  first, 
of  a  Pindaric  Ode,  131. 

ARSIS,  a  confusing  term  sometimes 
borrowed  from  classical  prosody 
tor  the  stressed  element  of  a 
toot;  the  unstressed  element  is 
called  Thesis. 


ASSONANCE,  the  repetition,  in  final 
syllables,  of  the  same  vowel 
sound  followed  by  a  different 
consonantal  sound,  166  f.  See 
RIME. 

BALLAD  METRE  (Common  Meas- 
ure, C.  M.  of  the  Hymnals),  the 
stanza  a^^a4^,  but  admitting 
certain  variations,  87,  103. 

BALLADE,  a  formal  metrical  scheme 
of  three  stanzas  riming  ababbcbC 
with  an  Envoi  bcbC>  keeping  the 
same  rimes  throughout,  and  the 
last  line  of  each  stanza  (C)  being 
the  same.  The  lines  are  usually 
5-stress,  163. 

BLANK  VERSE,  unrimed  5-stress 
lines  used  continuously,  94, 
133  ff.,  ch.  V  passim;  the 
the  'single-moulded'  line,  135  f.; 
Marlow's,  137  f.;  Shakespeare's, 
138  ff.,  later  dramatic,  140  f.; 
Milton's,  142 ff.;  conversational, 
147  ff. 

CAESURA,  the  classical  term  for  a 
pause,  usually  grammatical  and 
extra-metrical  (i.e.  not  reck- 
oned in  the  time  scheme).  When 
it  follows  an  accented  syllable 
it  is  called  masculine;  when  it 
follows  an  unaccented  syllable 
it  is  feminine;  when  it  occurs 
within  a  line  it  is  called  medial; 
when  it  occurs  after  an  'extra' 
unstressed  syllable  it  is  called 


209 


210 


GLOSSARIAL  INDEX 


epic    (though    as    frequent    in 
drama  as  in  epic),  as  — 

And  earth's  base  built  on  stubble.  [  But 
come,  let's  on. 

MELTON,  Comus,  1.  sgg. 

CATALEXIS;  see  TRUNCATION. 

CHORIAMB,  a  classical  foot, 
—  ww  — ,  51. 

COMMON  MEASURE  (C.  M.),  the 
regular  Ballad  Metre,  103  f. 

CONSONANCE,  specifically,  in  met- 
rics, a  form  of  incomplete  rime 
in  which  the  consonantal  sounds 
agree  but  the  vowel  sounds  dif- 
fer, 1 66  f.  See  RIME. 

COORDINATION,  the  agreement  or 
coincidence  of  the  natural  prose 
rhythm  with  the  metrical 
(rhythmical)  pattern;  the  proc- 
ess of  making  them  agree,  17  f. 

COUPLET,  a  group  of  two  lines 
riming  aa,  88;  closed  couplet, 
one  which  contains  an  inde- 
pendent clause  or  sentence  and 
does  not  run  on  into  the  next  ot 
the  series,  91  f.;  heroic  couplet, 
one  of  5-stress  lines,  usually 
iambic  (called  also  pentameter 
couplet),  89,  93  ff.;  short  coup- 
let, one  of  4-stress  iambic  or 
trochaic  lines  (also  called  octo- 
syllabic couplet),  89  ff. 

DACTYL,  a  foot  consisting  of  a 
stress  followed  by  two  un- 
stresses, JLww,  38,  51,  70,  84. 

DECASYLLABLE,  a  5-stress  (pen- 
tameter) line;  a  term  used  prop- 
erly only  of  syllable-counting 
metres  such  as  the  French. 

DISTICH,  couplet;  usually  in  clas- 
sical prosody  the  elegiac  couplet 
of  a  hexameter  and  a  pentam- 
eter, 162. 


DOGGEREL,  any  rough  irregular 
metre. 

DUPLE  RHYTHM,  a  rhythm  of  two 
beats  (though  corre»ronding 
generally  to  f  time  in  music), 
one  stress  and  one  unstress, 
-Lw  or  w_L. 

DURATION,  the  length  of  time  oc- 
cupied by  the  enunciation  of 
speech-sounds,  and  therefore 
an  element  in  all  language 
rhythm,  5.  See  also  TIME. 

ELEGIAC  STANZA,  the  quatrain 
abab*,  103,  107  f. 

ELISION,  the  omission  or  crowding 
out  of  unstressed  words  or  un- 
accented syllables  to  make  the 
metre  smoother;  a  term  belong- 
ing to  classical  prosody  and  in- 
appropriate in  English  prosody 
except  where  syllable-counting 
verse  is  concerned.  Various 
forms  of  Elision  are  called  Syn- 
cope, Synizesis,  and  Synaloepha. 

END-STOPPED  LINE,  one  with  a 
full  or  strong  grammatical  pause 
at  the  end. 

ENJAMBEMENT,  a  French  term 
('long  stride')  for  the  continua- 
tion of  the  sense  from  one  line 
(or  couplet)  to  the  next  without 
a  grammatical  pause,  62,  92; 
opposite  of  End-stopping.  See 
OVERFLOW;  RUN-ON  LINE. 

EPODE,  the  third  (sixth,  ninth) 
stanza  of  a  Pindaric  ode,  131. 

FEMININE  ENDING,  an  extra  un- 
stressed syllable  at  the  end  of  an 
iambic  or  anapestic  line,  71. 

FOOT,  the  smallest  metrical  unit 
of  rhythm,  composed  of  a 
stressed  element  and  one  or  more 


GLOSSARIAL  INDEX 


211 


unstressed  elements  (or  a  pause), 
49  ff. 

FREE-VERSE,  irregular  rhythms, 
not  conforming  to  a  fixed  metri- 
cal pattern,  I5off. 

HEADLESS  LINE,  acephalous;  and 
see  TRUNCATION. 

HENDECASYLLABLE,  a  5-stress  line 
with  feminine  ending,  thus  mak- 
ing ordinarily  eleven  syllables; 
usually  referring  to  a  special 
metre  used  by  Catullus  and 
others  (as  in  Tennyson's  imita- 
tion, 'O  you  chorus  of  indolent 
reviewers'),  162. 

HEROIC  LINE,  a  5-stress  iambic 
line. 

HEXAMETER,  classical  or  dactylic, 
the  standard  line  of  Greek  and 
Latin  poetry,  composed  of  six 
feet,  the  fifth  of  which  is  nearly 
always  a  dactyl,  the  sixth  a 
spondee  or  trochee,  the  rest 
either  dactyls  or  spondees; 
imitated  in  English  with  more 
or  less  success  by  substituting 
stress  for  quantity,  159  ff. 

HIATUS,  unexpected  absence  of 
elision. 

HOLD,  pause  on  a  word  or  syllable, 
62  f. 

HOVERING  ACCENT,  a  term  some- 
times used  for  the  coordination 
of  the  metrical  rhythm  w_Lw_L 
with  the  prose  rhythm  v^w-L-L 
as  in  "and  serene  air"  (Comus, 
1.  4);  the  accent  is  thought  of 
as  'hovering'  over  the  first 
syllable  of  serene,  182. 

HYPERMETRIC,  used  of  a  syllable 
which  is  not  reckoned  or  ex- 
pected in  the  regular  metrical 
pattern. 


IAMB,  Iambus,  a  foot  consisting  of 
an  unstress  and  a  stress,  wjL, 
38,  51,  69,  84  ff. 

IN  MEMORIAM  STANZA,  a  quatrain 
riming  abba*,  103,  105  ff. 

INVERSION,  the  substitution  of  a 
trochee  for  an  iamb  or  of  a 
dactyl  for  an  anapest  (or  vice 
versa),  51,  187  ff.;  a  misleading 
term;  see  SUBSTITUTION. 

LENGTH,  the  comparative  duration 
of  the  enunciation  of  syllables, 
33  f.  In  classical  prosody  sylla- 
bles were  regarded  by  conven- 
tion as  either  'long'  or  'short' 
(a  'long'  being  theoretically 
equal  to  two  'shorts'),  and  this 
usage  has  been  sometimes  (not 
successfully,  and  yet  not  en- 
tirely without  reason)  super- 
imposed upon  English  verse. 

LINE,  a  metrical  division  composed 
of  one  or  more  feet  and  either 
used  continuously  or  combined 
in  stanzas,  52  f.,  69  ff.  See 
VERSE  (i). 

LOUDNESS,  the  comparative 
strength  or  volume  of  a  sound,  6. 

LONG  MEASURE  (L.  M.  of  the 
Hymnals)  the  quatrain  riming 
abab*  or  abcb*,  103. 

METRE,  a  regular,  artificial, 
rhythmic  pattern,  the  formal 
basis  of  versification. 

OCTOSYLLABLE,    an    8-syllable   or 

4-stress  line.     See  DECASYLLA- 

BLE. 
OCTAVE,  a  stanza  of  eight  lines; 

especially  the  two  quatrains  of 

an  Italian  sonnet,  120. 
ODE,  a  kind  of  exalted  lyric  poem, 

not  strictly  a  metrical  term  but 


212 


GLOSSARIAL  INDEX 


often  used  as  such  to  describe 
the  simple  stanzaic  structure  of 
the  'Horatian'  ode  or  the  com- 
plex system  of  strophe,  anti- 
strophe  and  epode  of  the  'Pin- 
daric' ode,  131  ff. 

ONOMATOPOEIA,  primarily  a  rhe- 
torical figure  but  of  much  wider 
application,  covering  all  cases 
from  single  words  to  phrases 
and  lines  of  verse  in  which  there 
is  agreement,  by  echo  or  sug- 
gestions, between  the  sound  of 
the  words  and  their  meaning; 
as  a  metrical  term,  the  agree- 
ment of  the  verse  rhythm  with 
the  idea  expressed,  177  ff. 

OTTAVA  RIMA,  the  stanza  (of 
Italian  origin)  riming  abababcc*, 
inf. 

OVERFLOW,  the  running  over  of 
the  parts  of  a  sentence  from  one 
line  to  the  next  without  a  pause 
at  the  end  of  the  line,  62.  See 
ENJAMBEMENT,  RUN-ON. 


PAEON,  a  classical  foot,  — 
5i,76ff. 

PAUSE,  (i)  logical  or  grammatical, 
that  which  separates  the  formal 
parts  of  a  sentence,  61,  63;  (2) 
rhythmical,  that  which  separates 
the  breath-groups  of  spoken 
sentences,  61  ff.;  (3)  metrical, 

(a)  that   which    separates    the 
parts  of  a  metrical  pattern,  as  at 
the  end  of  a  line,  62,  and  also 

(b)  that  which  takes  the  place  of 
an  unstressed  element  of  a  foot, 
being  equivalent  to  the  rest  in 
music    (indicated   by    the   sign 
A),  62  ff. 

PENTAMETER,  a  5-stress  line,  52. 
(This  term  is  well  established, 
but  open  to  objection.) 


PHRASE,  a  group  of  words  held 
together  either  by  their  meaning 
(or  content)  or  by  their  sound, 
32  f.,  37  ff. 

PINDARIC,  see  ODE. 

PITCH,  the  characteristic  of  a 
sound  dependent  upon  its  num- 
ber of  vibrations  per  second; 
(usually  indicated  by  its  place 
in  the  musical  scale;  high  or 
'acute,'  low  or  'grave');  5  f., 
35  ff.;  sometimes  functions  in 
verse  for  emphasis  or  for  stress, 
8,  35  ff.,  181  ff. 

POULTER'S  MEASURE,  an  old-fash- 
ioned couplet,  composed  of  an 
alexandrine  and  a  septenary, 
a«a7,  88  f. 

PROSE,  Characteristic,  prose  with 
natural  and  varied  rhythms, 
23  ff.;  Cadenced,  prose  with 
carefully  sought  rhythmic  move- 
ments, 27  ff.;  Metrical,  a  hy- 
brid of  prose  and  verse,  29  ff. 

PYRRHIC,  a  classical  foot,  ww,  51. 


QUANTITY,  the  length  of  a  syllable; 
established  by  convention  in 
classical  prosody;  in  English 
prosody  very  uncertain  but 
always  present.  See  LENGTH. 

QUATRAIN,  a  stanza  of  four  lines, 
103  ff. 

REFRAIN,  a  line  or  part  of  a  line 
repeated  according  to  the  metri- 
cal pattern,  184^;  the  term  repe- 
tend  is  occasionally  used. 

REST,  see  PAUSE  (3,  b). 

RHYTHM,  regular  arrangement  or 
repetition  of  varied  parts,  see 
ch.  I,  ch.  II,  and  passim;  objec- 
tive, having  external  concrete 
existence,  3  ff.;  subjective,  felt 
by  the  individual,  3,  12  ff.; 


GLOSSARIAL  INDEX 


213 


spatial,  in  which  the  units  are 
spaces,  4;  temporal,  in  which 
the  units  are  periods  of  time, 
4  ff.;  rising,  beginning  with  the 
stressed  element,  38;  falling, 
beginning  with  the  unstressed 
element,  38;  duple,  having  a 
stress  and  one  unstressed  ele- 
ment (syllable),  38;  triple,  hav- 
ing a  stress  and  two  unstressed 
elements  (syllables),  38. 

RIME,  repetition  of  the  same 
sound  (or  sounds)  usually  at  the 
end  of  the  line,  165  ff.;  Mas- 
culine, when  the  repeated  sound 
consists  of  one  stressed  sylla- 
ble; Feminine,  when  a  stressed 
+  one  or  more  unstressed  sylla- 
bles; Triple,  when  a  stressed  + 
two  unstressed  syllables;  Echo 
or  Identical,  when  the  preceding 
consonantal  sound  also  agrees; 
Eye-rime,  when  the  words  agree 
in  spelling  but  not  in  pronuncia- 
tion, 174.  As  distinct  from  end- 
rime,  there  is  Internal  or  Leonine 
rime,  which  occurs  within  the 
line  (sometimes  merely  a  matter 
of  printing).  See  also  ASSO- 
NANCE, CONSONANCE. 

RIME  COUEE,  see  TAIL-RIME 
STANZA. 

RIME-ROYAL,  a  stanza  borrowed  by 
Chaucer  from  the  French,  abab- 
bcc*;  also  called  Troilus  stanza, 
Chaucer  stanza,  109  f. 

RONDEAU,  RONDEL,  French  metri- 
cal forms  characterized  by  the 
repetition  of  the  first  phrase  or 
lines  twice  as  a  refrain,  e.  g. 
aabba  aabR  aabbaR  (R  being 
the  first  phrase  of  the  first  line), 
or  ABba  abAB  abbaAB  (the 
capitals  indicating  the  whole 
lines  repeated),  163. 


RUN-ON  LINE,  one  in  which  the 
sense  runs  over  into  the  follow- 
ing line  without  a  grammatical 
pause,  62,  92.  See  ENJAMBE- 
MENT;  OVERFLOW. 

SAPPHIC,  a  4-line  stanza  used 
by  Sappho  (and  Catullus  and 
Horace)  and  often  imitated  in 
English;  the  pattern  is  —  \^>  | 

—  *-*  I  —  wv-'l  —  vy  I   —  w 
thrice  repeated,  then  —  w  w  | 

—  \j,  161  f. 

SEPTENARY,  SEPTENARIUS  (four- 
teener),  the  old  i4-syllable  or 
y-stress  iambic  line,  later  split 
up  into  the  Ballad  metre,  87; 
and  used  also  with  the  alexan- 
drine in  the  Poulter's  Measure. 

SESTET,  a  group  of  six  lines,  es- 
pecially the  last  six  of  an  Italian 
sonnet,  120. 

SESTINA,  an  elaborate  metrical 
form  consisting  of  six  6-line 
stanzas  and  a  3-line  stanza  with 
repetition  of  the  same  end-words 
in  different  order  instead  of 
rime,  164. 

SHORT  MEASURE  (S.  M.  of  the 
Hymnals),  the  Poulter's  Meas- 
ure broken  into  a  quatrain: 


SONNET,  n8ff.,  (i)  Italian,  a  14- 
line  stanza  composed  of  two 
quatrains  riming  abba  and  two 
tercets  riming  cde  cde  (cde  dee, 
etc.),  I2off.;  (2)  English,  14- 
line  stanza  of  three  quatrains 
riming  abab  cdcd  ejef,  and  a 
closing  couplet  ££,  127  ff.  There 
are  also  mixed  forms  and  many 
variations. 

SPENSERIAN  STANZA,  a  g-line 
stanza  riming  ababbcbc*c*\  the 
final  alexandrine  is  the  charac- 


GLOSSARIAL  INDEX 


teristic  feature,  85  f.,  naff. 
Several  variations  were  used  in 
the  seventeenth  century  con- 
sisting of  shorter  lines  with  a 
closing  alexandrine,  117. 

SPONDEE,  a  classical  prosody  a  foot 
of  two  long  syllables;  in  Eng- 
lish prosody  a  foot  of  two  'long' 
or  accented  or  stressed  words  or 
syllables,  51. 

STANZA,  a  group  of  lines  arranged 
according  to  a  special  pattern, 
usually  marked  by  rimes,  53, 
88  ff.;  see  also  VERSE  (3). 

STRESS,  the  comparative  emphasis 
which  distinguishes  a  sound 
from  others  not  so  strongly  or 
plainly  emphasized,  34  f.,  37  f., 
56  f.,  65  f.  Then  by  UNSTRESS 
or  no  stress  is  meant  absence  or 
comparative  weakness  of  em- 
phasis. Stress  is  used  in  this 
book  for  rhythmic  and  metrical 
emphasis;  see  ACCENT. 

STROPHE,  same  as  Stanza,  53;  in 
the  Pindaric  ode,  the  first 
(fourth,  etc.)  stanza,  131. 

SUBSTITUTION  (i)  replacing  one 
rhythmic  unit  by  its  temporal 
equivalent,  as  an  iamb  by  an 
anapest  or  by  a  trochee,  etc.. 
20;  called  also  Inversion  (q.  p.) 
of  the  foot;  (2)  the  use  of  pitch 
or  duration  (pause)  for  a  stress 
or  unstress,  20,  181  ff. 

SYLLABLE,  the  smallest  and  sim- 
plest unit  of  speech-sound,  32  f.; 
sometimes  used  as  a  metrical 
unit,  49. 

SYNCOPATION,  the  union,  or  per- 
ception of  the  union,  of  two  or 
more  rhythmic  patterns,  18  ff. 

TAIL-RIME  STANZA,  one  usually  of 
six  lines  riming  aaWcc4!?,  but 


with  many  variations  (e.  g.  the 
Burns  stanza,  aaaWatb"1},  the 
general  type  being  a  combina- 
tion of  long  lines  in  groups  with 
single  short  lines,  109. 

TAILED  SONNET,  a  sonnet  with  a 
tail  (coda),  or  addition.  About 
the  only  one  in  English  is  Mil- 
ton's On  the  New  Forcers  of 
Conscience:  the  rimes  are  abba 
abba  cde  dec6  c3ffy3gg*. 

TERCET,  a  group  of  three  lines, 
especially  in  the  sestet  of  the 
Italian  sonnet,  102,  120. 

TERZA  RIMA,  an  Italian  rime 
scheme  aba  bcb  cdc  .  .  .  yzy  zz; 
rarely  used  in  English,  but 
triumphantly  (in  stanzas)  in 
Shelley's  Ode  to  the  West  Wind, 
164. 

TETRAMETER,  a  classical  term 
(four  'measures'  or  eight  feet) 
incorrectly  used  for  the  English 
4-stress  line,  52. 

THESIS,  see  ARSIS. 

TIME,  an  inevitable  element  in 
English  verse  (as  well  as  prose), 
but  not  the  sole  basis,  56  ff. 

TONE-COLOR,  TONE  QUALITY,  '  tim- 
bre,' the  characteristic  of  a 
sound  determined  by  the  num- 
ber of  partial  tones  (overtones), 
as  richness,  sweetness,  thinness, 
stridency;  hence  sometimes  ap- 
plied to  the  musical  quality  of 
a  verse  or  phrase,  6  and  note, 
177. 

TRIBRACH,  a  classical  foot,  www, 

51- 
TRIMETER,  a  classical  term  (three 

'measures'  or  six  feet)  incor- 
rectly used  for  the  English  3- 
stress  line,  52. 

TRIOLET,  a  French  metrical  form, 
mainly  for  light  themes,  riming 


GLOSSARIAL  INDEX 


215 


(the  capitals  in- 
dicating repeated  lines)  and 
usually  with  short  lines,  163. 

TRIPLET,  a  group  of  three  lines, 
especially  when  rimed  aaay 
102  f.  See  also  TERCET. 

TROCHEE,  a  foot  consisting  of  a 
stress  and  an  unstress,  _Lw,  38, 
51,  70,  82  S. 

TRUNCATION,  omission  of  the 
nngfrp«;«;pH  ^fcrnent  of 
usually  in  the  trochaic  metres, 
76;  also  called  Cata/exis  (the 
opposite  of  which,  the  non- 
omission  of  this  element,  is 
Acataiexis).  Initial  Truncation 
is  the  omission  of  the  first  un- 
stressed element  of  a  line,  usu- 


ally in  the  iambic  metres,  thus 
making  a  Headless  verse. 

UNSTRESS,  the  element  of  a 
rhythmic  unit  which  is  without 
emphasis  or  has  a  relatively 
weak  emphasis. 

VERSE,  (i)  a  metrical  line,  52;  (2) 
collectively,  for  metre,  metrical 
form;  (3)  commonly  in  England, 
and  in  America  in  the  churches, 
used  for  Stanza. 

VILLANELLE,  a  French  verse  form 
of  nineteen  lines  on  three  rimes, 
certain  lines  being  repeated  at 
fixed  intervals,  163  f. 


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